Bury Me under a Linden Tree
by The Eye of the Crow
Summary: Raito is a bestselling novelist, whose books have the strangest effect on people… they make them commit suicide, for example. Mikami is his boring boyfriend. And then there’s L, a mysterious poet who catches Raito’s attention. Raito/Mikami Raito/L Yaoi AU
1. Light in the Leaves

**Title: **Bury Me under a Linden Tree

**Pairing: **Raito/Mikami, Raito/L

**Rating:** M

**Warning: **Contains swearing and sex between male characters.

**Summary: **Raito Yagami is a bestselling novelist, whose books have the strangest effect on people… they make them commit suicide, for example. Teru Mikami is his boyfriend who is starting to bore him to tears. And then there's L, a mysterious poet who catches Raito's interest.

* * *

**Chapter I: The Light in the Leaves**

Raito halted before the door, closing his eyes. His alert senses could catch a TV noise, possibly a baseball match and a smell of food, possibly macaroni and cheese.

_He's watching TV, drinking a glass of wine – the first and the last __of this evening - and has probably eaten dinner by now, so he is going to tell me that the rest is in the microwave. _

Strangely enough, he felt as though all of this has flashed through his head before he was bestowed to the actual sensations and certainly before he set his foot into their apartment.

A dark-haired man sat in front of a TV set, holding a glass of white wine. He wore a pair of black jeans and a green T-shirt.

When he heard the door open, he turned his head to Raito with a warm smile.

"Hello. How was it? Did you win? I've already eaten, but if you're hungry there's still some macaroni left. I've put it in the microwave."

Raito gave him a wry smile. If anything, Teru Mikami was a truly predictable individual.

He went to the refrigerator without uttering a word.

"Oh. So you didn't win," Mikami said, watching with increasing worry Raito's disarrayed movements as he rummaged about in the fridge, occasionally tossing a food item on the floor.

"Then who did?" he asked.

Raito gave him a furious glance.

"Some poet, a complete naught nobody has ever heard of before the jury found his works in trash or something, because apparently they never went to regular print. Imagine that he didn't even bother to show up and receive the goddamn award. Fuck. I don't want to talk about it," Raito concluded and finally slammed the fridge door because he had found what he was looking for. A bottle of vodka.

"You shouldn't drink anymore, Raito, I think you've had enough," Mikami frowned.

"Why did I know that you were gonna say that?" Raito smirked and had a long gulp straight from the bottle.

_Now you__ will stand up, try to take this bottle from me, I'll resist, we'll argue and then make up and end up in bed. _

When Mikami rose from the sofa, Raito willingly put the bottle aside.

"Let's skip the arguing part. I want to take you right here and now," he said with a lopsided drunken smile.

A second later he regretted that he disrupted the scheme, because now his fury wouldn't leave him, even when the other man obediently lay down on the sofa, taking off his clothes. _But there are other ways to overcome anger, aren't they._

The TV was turned off, as well as all the lights. Only the moonlight poured into the room and Raito took in the milky pallor of the other's skin, broken only by the dark pools of his nipples and the shade of his crotch.

He himself didn't bother with undressing; he just unclasped his belt and pushed his trousers and boxers down. He gave his lover a rough kiss on the mouth and one of his hands started to stroke his member, while the two fingers of the other dove deep inside Mikami's body, preparing him.

All happened in such haste that they didn't have the time to fetch the lube. Teru winced when Raito entered him. _He's always like this when he's drunk, _he thought, but soon all thoughts left him and he just lay there writhing on the sofa, moaning uncontrollably.

Raito was rocking his hips and his thrusts were increasing in speed and depth, until he was hitting the other man's sweet spot with a violent vehemence. Teru's eyes became blurred with pleasure that merged with pain, until he couldn't tell them apart anymore.

Finally Raito came and spent himself into his lover, collapsing onto him and falling asleep in the following instant.

Teru gently detangled Raito's limbs from his own, stood up, ignoring his soreness and went for a blanket. After he had made sure that Raito was covered for the night, he went to their bedroom and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling until the darkness took him.

…

Raito arrived at the high iron gate. He pressed the doorbell, watching the white building rising across the perfectly cut green lawn.

_So t__his is the famous Linden Hills sanatorium. It's said to be quite an expensive place. That kid must be rolling in money._ That was Raito's first thought, but immediately after that he grew ashamed of himself. He was visiting an invalid, after all. He shouldn't be thinking about the state of his financial affairs. It was enough that he was speaking so ill about that person the other day, suspecting him of superiority and haughtiness, while in fact he couldn't receive his award due to a serious illness.

A voice asked him what his business was, and Raito explained the purpose of his visit. He was allowed entrance and before he reached the building he was greeted by two doctors, who escorted him to the patient.

The room agreed with Raito's image he had formed beforehand – it was a place quite different from standard sterile hospital settings. It showed that its occupant has been staying there for a long period of time, because now it resembled a place a person might inhabit at their home. There was a wardrobe, a stuffed bookcase, working desk with a computer and various personal items scattered on the floor, namely papers, books and sweets.

"You couldn't have someone clean this place?" one of the doctors whispered angrily.

"But I did, just two hours ago!" The other one opposed, before both of them left the room, leaving Raito alone with the patient.

The patient was a skinny, pale man of no more than twenty-five, with dark circles under his eyes and dark ruffled hair. He was half lying, half sitting in his bed, his hands grasping the hem of his blanket. He was staring at Raito with a completely blank face.

"Hello," Raito said, "I'm really glad that you agreed to meet me. I've read your poems and I thought that I absolutely have to see you."

"So now you see me," the pale man said, quite offhandedly.

"Erm, yes," Raito started to feel a little bit uneasy, but then reminded himself that this was a _genius poet_ living in a _sanatorium, _so he should be prepared for pretty much of anything.

"Well, I'm Raito Yagami. Nice to meet you," he resumed smoothly.

L – that was a penname of a man named Lawliett Wammy, which was one of the few pieces of information about him that Raito had managed to find out – didn't respond to that. His eyes were roaming through the room and together with his strangely slouched posture reminded Raito of a trapped bird.

His next words only strengthened the impression:

"I don't like it here, it's suffocating. Wouldn't you mind going for a walk?" he asked.

Raito nodded, slightly bewildered and L pressed a button on the wall to summon a nurse.

"I wish to take a walk in the gardens with my guest," he said, after she came. In no time a wheelchair was delivered, and the nurse helped him into it.

They entered the gardens, Raito pushing the wheelchair.

"I apologize for making you do this," L spoke up, "they offered me an automatic one many times before, but I always refused. I would feel too mechanical if I used that, if you understand what I mean."

"I do," Raito replied and pushed the wheelchair without complaining.

They followed the paved road in a slow pace, taking in the scenery. There were many trees; oaks, beeches and mainly linden trees that had given the sanatorium its name, and also cultivated bushes and flower beds. Other patients enjoyed the fresh air as well; there was a solitary figure sitting on a bench in a shade of an aged oak, reading, and two women walking past the white brick wall, separating the garden from the rest of the world.

"I liked the time axis reverse idea," L said, "it's not an entirely new one, but I have never seen it carried out on such a large scale."

His habit of uttering unconnected statements at first served to confuse Raito, but he soon grew accustomed to it. It took him just a few seconds to realize that L was talking about his latest book.

"I don't remember how it came to me," Raito said. "I guess that it was in one of these moments you do something that you immediately regret afterwards and the only thing you can think of is: if only I could turn back time. I guess I just carried it a little bit further."

"I found it quite interesting. But I still like _Dear Wilhelm_ the best. I only wonder," L made a short pause here and they entered a group of linden trees that grew close to each other, secluding this part of the road from the rest of the garden, "how you feel about all these suicides."

Raito took a deep breath. This wasn't the first time he heard this question; it was quite a favorite with the media. Well, that was understandable, because _Dear Wilhelm, _a modern-day adaptation of Goethe's _Sorrows of Young Werther, _was said to provoke a wave of suicides of more than eight hundreds of mostly young people who closely followed the method described in the book.

"I didn't expect that at all. At the time I wrote it I didn't even know that Goethe's original work caused such upheaval; I just got my hands on the book and was amazed by it. I thought that with some rendering it has something to say to a modern reader, something valuable. Of course, I couldn't help expressing some of my own ideas and opinions along with the original message, but I consider this minor."

"I heard you say that in one interview," L calmly replied. Raito gritted his teeth, mad at himself. Automatic responses were one thing, but next time he really should take the trouble to change the wording at least.

"It makes perfect sense. I just think it interesting when a week after the media made a fuss about Japan leading a world suicide chart the top-selling novelist publishes a book promoting suicide."

Raito gave the wheelchair a too strong push, so that L's head slightly hit the backrest.

"I'm sorry," he said, "it was an unfortunate coincidence. Besides, I was by no means _promoting _suicide. It's just that my hero was left with no other choice, just like Werther. People should cease to think that when a writer describes something without openly denouncing it, he automatically approves it. "

Busy justifying himself Raito overlooked a pothole and the wheelchair made a jump, L's head hitting the backrest harder this time.

"I'm really sorry," Raito said, automatically stretching out his hand to touch the sitting man's head.

_Silky,_ he thought,_ his hair looks rough, but it's in fact more silky then Teru's-_

"You've said that once, too," L proclaimed.

_Shit, this wasn't even the same interview! And I did change the wording this time. __That little prick has a disquietingly sharp memory. Or he has a special interest in me; I don't know which one is worse. What exactly is he trying to achieve by this conversation?_

"Please let's stop here for a while, this is my favorite place."

Raito made a few steps and preceded the sitting man.

They reached the end of the linden road; the distance between the trees increased, letting in the streams of sunshine. There was a narrow strip of lawn and then there was already the white brick wall, which in this part of the garden was covered with ivy. In a shade close to the wall stood three grey boulders.

"Are these graves?" Raito asked incredulously, looking at L.

"Yes, some people who die here wish to be buried in this garden. Yagami-kun, have you ever thought about the power a writer holds? Someone said that the pen is mightier than the sword and they weren't far from truth. When a genius wishes to make an ordinary human do something, there's nothing to stop him. I can imagine an individual, a bored, spoilt young man, who detests actual physical violence but is fascinated with power. Everything always came easy to him and he knows he could excel in anything he chose, including writing. But that too is so easy that it bores him. Then one day he reads _Sorrows of Young Werther_ and learns about the events its publishing caused, asking himself: 'Can_ my_ writing do that? ' And then he takes up the challenge."

No critic or journalist had ever dared to tell Raito _that. _

Raito laughed, but it sounded rather forced.

"You have an interesting way of thinking…Lawliett, may I call you that?"

"If you wish so, Yagami-kun."

"But enough about my works; I came here to discuss yours. They're…" Here he was forced to stop, because he couldn't find the right words. Not that there weren't hundreds of descriptions buzzing in his head – what the jury said before they proclaimed L a winner, and what all the critics said, for last week the collection was finally published and caused quite a sensation – for a poetry.

But Raito was sure that was he to repeat any of this, a collected, indifferent but strangely alluring voice would tell him that he had already heard that. Besides, anything of this didn't reflect his real opinion.

"Unique," he finished lamely, "I'm sorry, but I can't put it into words. I'm not a critic or scholar. It's just… when I read your poems, they strike a chord inside me I wasn't even aware that it existed before, and all I can think is, like, _this is it_. I don't even think that they are beautiful, because that's what you say when you see a sunrise or when you look from a viewing tower on a fine day, and your poetry is nothing like that. It is something more."

There was more on his mind; a comparison with his own work, for instance. Of course he knew that to compare poetry and prose was pointless, but Raito couldn't help it. Where he himself used cold calculation to achieve a certain effect on a reader, L used – Raito didn't know what it was, but it was as alien to calculation as a sunflower to a computer tomograph. And he was sure that he would never have it.

"I like you more for saying this," L said with a wan smile, intently gazing at Raito. "Will you be my friend?"

Raito was little taken aback by this, because the person asking for his friendship was insinuating that he made his readers commit suicide on purpose a moment ago. Nonetheless he nodded his agreement.

Soft breeze was playing with L's hair and the streaks of golden light gave his face an ethereal quality. He spoke up and talked about spring, birds crying in the distance, yellowish, fragile stalks of weed yielding under the sweeping wind and many other things.

Raito wasn't able to recognize the exact forms of the words; they went straight into his heart, leaving burning images there.

And that animated, glowing face! Its pallor disappeared, together with certain dullness in the eyes that had made them appear dead; now they were pools of inverse light shinning through the leaves and the wall, a light that couldn't be stop with material barrier but penetrated everything, spreading to the width and rising above. It flew and Raito flew with it.

It was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen or felt.

…

When he came home, a second before he entered a smell of a fried fish and potatoes filled his nostrils.

_A fish, that means Friday, he's been in the gym and now he's back, waiting for me with the dinner. He's probably reading some materials…no, wait - he's watering his stupid flowers._

Teru Mikami put aside a small green plastic watering-can.

"Hello. Where have you been?"

"In a sanatorium," Raito replied, exhausted. This was like leaving wild moors offering hundreds of exciting adventures to visit an insurance agency. Everything was seen before, predicted, and repeated with a dulling monotony.

Teru looked at him with expectation. He obviously wanted to hear more about the sanatorium. But Raito was in no mood to tell him. _How could that ever be told? And to him, of all people?_

_To maintain a communication is an important point in a relationship_, an empty sentence he had probably read in some of those idiotic how-to-live-your-own-life advice books flashed through his mind. He grimaced.

"And how was your day?" he asked with no real interest, just to change the topic.

Teru froze. _Act normally, just act normally, you can do it. _He took a deep breath.

"Fine; there was just some quarreling in the office," he said, his velvety voice trembling ever so slightly.

…

Teru Mikami was sitting at his desk, eating a sandwich. He was having his everyday thirty-minute lunch break. His eyes were wandering out of the window, taking in the glass and steel structure of some other business building across the street, but they didn't really see it.

He will cook a fish tonight. He usually did that on Fridays, maybe he should alter it sometimes, he thought, but Raito liked fried fish. And then they will talk. He'll ask him what he was doing all day, for Raito didn't share his plans with him in the morning, and Raito will tell. It was bound to be something interesting; Raito lead such an exciting life. And then they can watch a movie together, it's been long since the last time they did that, maybe something romantic with lots of emotions and preferably with one or more of the main characters dying, Raito likes that kind of thing-

A hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts. It was Tarou Hamaguchi, a senior lawyer of about forty-years of age, and he was looking at him with his small, cunning eyes. Mikami didn't like this man.

"You heard about Tanaka's wedding?" Hamaguchi asked.

"Yes, sir," Mikami replied, slightly confused. Everyone in the office had heard of that; it wasn't the hottest gossip anymore. Why was Hamaguchi bringing that up now?

"We were wondering when you would tie the knot," Hamaguchi said with a sly smile.

"When I would do what?" Mikami asked with a blank expression.

"You know, walk down the aisle, get hitched… _get married_," Hamaguchi finally snapped, all of his patience having evaporated. He sometimes forgot that Teru Mikami wasn't a man to play with words. He disliked puns, periphrases and metaphors. If one has something to say, they should do it directly, because it saves time for the both sides concerned - that was his motto. People sometimes wondered why he chose to become a lawyer with this attitude – and how he could be so successful in the job.

"I have no plans considering this matter," Mikami responded, "I'm afraid that I have yet to meet the right person."

Then the "we" that made Teru worried before materialized itself in the form of Takeuchi and Ogata, another two of his colleagues and Hamaguchi's friends. They weren't Teru's friends.

"Then we can help you," Ogata said, baring his slightly tobacco-yellowed teeth in a smile.

"Let's go to a bar together tonight and we'll help you find someone."

"I'm sorry, but I'm engaged elsewhere," he said coolly.

"And what about tomorrow?" Ogata persisted.

"Thank you for inviting me, but I already have plans for the weekend," Teru said, wishing that the lunch break would be over soon.

Hamaguchi turned to the other two with a look that made them leave immediately.

"So, Teru-kun," he drawled when they were alone in the room, leaning menacingly across the desk, "you have no female friend and yet you have a meeting tonight, and your weekend is so busy scheduled. How could that be? Are you working yourself to death? Or you spend all of your spare time with your precious old mother?" Hamaguchi asked and his mocking eyes traveled to the photograph of Mrs. Mikami that her son kept on his desk.

Teru put aside the unfinished sandwich when he realized he had been grasping it tightly for the last five minutes, not taking a bite. His hatred for the man increased with every passing second, and his patience had reached its limits.

"What I do in my spare time is none of your business," he said icily, "Please allow me to end this conversation here, Hamaguchi-san."

"I won't allow anything of the sort," the older man snapped, hitting the desk with both of his hands, "there's something I want to tell you. The social paradigm has shifted, they say. First the Korean got their rights, then the Eta and at last the fags, but this is a good old place and it is exactly the same as when my grandfather used to work here, and no new order is required.

We need _real _men to execute the law, not weak limping fags who even dare to think they are something better than us and avoid our company."

Hamaguchi took a breath and gave the stunned young man a triumphant look.

"I hope you'll take the hint, or otherwise I'll have to talk with the boss, Teru-_chan,_" he concluded and left the office.

This affected Mikami more than it should have. He bitterly regretted that he was taking himself too seriously, that he wasn't able to just laugh and let it pass, because it wasn't _that_ bad – he only will have to be more careful about covering the consequences of Raito's rough nocturnal treatment, and have a glass of beer or two once in a week with the people he detested, making up some lies about the women he slept with, and they'd leave him alone, he was sure of that. But it badly wounded his dignity.

He worked hard for his career, which he didn't choose for easy money but for the chance to actually help people, to deliver justice, lame as it may sound. He didn't deserve to be mocked so cruelly just because he happened to love another man. And then there was his mother…

This was so easy for Raito, he thought. His position was a completely different one. He could date anyone he pleased, because writers were perceived as artists and therefore allowed to have their eccentricities. Lawyers didn't have that liberty, especially in a firm as old, respectable and rigid as was the one Mikami worked in.

He wouldn't tell Raito, he decided, because he would feel guilty for having caused him the trouble. That's what Teru said to himself, but an annoying small voice in his head was telling him that he was deluding himself and the only reason why he shouldn't tell his lover about what had happened was that Raito wouldn't care a fig.

…

"I'm glad to hear that," Raito said, having obviously switched off his attention just after 'fine'.

Mikami just nodded, forcing a smile on his lips.

With that their mini conversation was over. Raito produced a small book from his pocket, went to the living room, sat down in a large armchair and started to read it, or rather re-read it, for Teru noticed that it was the same volume that Raito often took into his hands these days. On its cover was a picture of a dark-haired young man dressed in a simple white shirt.

"What is it that you are reading?" Teru asked.

"It's _Light in the Leaves_. It's the book that won the Kuroda award this year."

"May I?" the lawyer asked and Raito handed him the book.

"That's the author? He looks young," Teru noted.

Raito shrugged his shoulders.

"We may be about the same age," he said.

Teru ran out of the things to say, for he never read poetry. He disliked everything that was not expressed clearly, after all.

"Well," he finally was able to come up with a comment of some kind, "They always use these black-and-white pictures on poetry covers these days, don't they. They probably think it's cool or something."

Raito smiled.

"It's not a black-and-white picture, Teru. He actually looks like that in color."

"You have met him? But it's written here that he is seriously ill and never leaves the Linden Hill --- _sanatorium_. Oh, I see. So, what is he like?"

Raito took back the book and his gaze left Mikami's face, fixing on something in the distance.

"Interesting," he said at length, "very, very different from you, Teru."

**TBC**


	2. Weeds in Our Garden

_A/N: Hello, I want to thank everyone who reviewed. I'm afraid that some of you expect something else from this story than what it's actually going to be, but I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless. _

_I originally planned to write one long chapter, but it somehow split in two, the downside of which is that in this chapter you won't get to see any L. But the good thing is that the third chapter is almost finished and I plan to put it here on Sunday._

_

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**Chapter ****II – Weeds in Our Garden**

Teru Mikami stepped into the small summer-house, noticing the layer of dust that piled on the furniture with a frown. It's been a while since he last went here, he had been busy at work or he spent weekends with Raito, who usually preferred to stay in the city. He actually visited this place only once, saying that watching Teru hoe his potatoes wasn't his idea of enjoyment.

Teru proposed that he could write in there – wasn't it just the kind of place writers secluded themselves in to enjoy serenity and solitude? To that Raito said that he was more inspired by the dynamics of city life.

Teru changed into a pair of well-worn jeans and a grey flannel shirt. He entered the garden through the backdoors and looked about him. There was always lot of things to do; to cut the branches, mulch the beds, clear the weeds.

It was just the end of April and the weeds had already grown high, suffocating other plants. He rolled up his sleeves and put on a pair of thick garden gloves. He kneeled down to set about his work, breathing in the smell of fresh soil. It put him at ease.

The only sound he could hear was just the soft murmur of the wind in the leaves and the chirping of the birds. He unconsciously heaved a sigh of relief.

It was nice to escape the annoying turmoil of the courtroom. It was not as if people were yelling at each other there like they showed it in TV dramas – this sort of emotional display was usually left for different fields of law than Mikami dealt with - but there was the constant humming of voices concerned about their business matters. He just had to walk down the hall and there was always a group of men in grey suits somewhere in the background, having a discussion in a quiet, composed manner. They could speak in figures instead of actual words and it wouldn't make a difference.

He remembered his naïve dream of bringing justice to the helpless and compared it with the work he ended up doing. There seldom now came a case that would make him feel agitated, like he really cared for its outcome. Rich corporations tried to rob other rich corporations of their dirty money and his job was to help them do that, or help their rivals prevent it, depending on who was paying him.

_This world is rotting, _a sentence from the beginning of one of Raito's earlier novels flashed through his head.

He imagined Raito in his place. The thing he would concentrate on would be the winning, that alone would bring him satisfaction.

He paused for a while, his eyes trailing to the heap of nettles that had grown by his side. They were all young and fresh and stung slightly even through the gloves.

He sat on the ground, stretching his back that had grown a little bit tense. He bent his head back and let the sun caress his face. The pale blue sky was high and lightened with yellowish glow. It descended on the garden, gliding over the leaves and blades of grass.

Teru closed his eyes.

…

They won the case and they were justified in having done so. That man really did breach the copyright law by using quite a lot of Raito's ideas without adequate credit. And it wasn't just an embellishment – the book would have fallen apart of he didn't use those stolen lines here and there.

"Good job, gentlemen," Raito addressed his lawyers with a bright smile, "may I invite you for a drink?"

They went to a classy bar and everyone got expensive drinks and cocktails – _you can rely on lawyers to make the best of every situation, _Raito thought with a smirk – except for a young man who was introduced to him as an apprentice lawyer who was just watching the case. He drank white wine.

"You have refined taste," Raito noted.

"Well, it's more like my alcohol tolerance is very low so I do not dare to experiment," Mikami explained.

Raito's golden orbs bore into the other's brownish green with unnerving intensity.

"That's wise of you, Mikami-san," he commented and took a sip from his blue drink.

"Just Teru is fine," he said without thinking and then mentally scolded himself. What was he thinking, proposing something like that when they barely knew each other. He hoped he didn't offend the writer.

But he couldn't help it; he really wanted to get to know him better. Throughout the trial Raito fascinated him with his confidence, self-control and the way he expressed himself, which was very smooth but at same time contained certain fierceness, like he was deeply convinced of the verity of everything he said.

"Well, then call me Raito," the writer said with a smile, "let's drink to it. You can have a vodka for a change, can't you? Just this once."

"If you insist." Teru found refusing very difficult, if one is faced with an almost angelic smile and eyes of a doe.

Their glasses clinked. Teru wanted to say something, but the only thing on his mind was cliché phrases like 'to this night!' He felt that he must refrain from saying anything like that, because an imaginative writer like Raito would undoubtedly find it unbearably banal.

The said writer himself didn't look as though he wanted to say anything at all. He sat there contently, looking at Teru with a little smile, his hand supporting his chin, and flickers of light danced in his eyes.

Right at that moment Hamaguchi, who led the case, said something that caught Raito's attention and so his gaze finally left Mikami, leaving him to his own devices.

Teru felt as though great weight was lifted from his shoulders, at the same time experiencing a vague feeling of lost.

_I'm overreacting, _he thought, _that must be because of the alcohol. _

He repaid Raito his previous scrutiny. The writer was talking in an animated way, his eyes radiant, no, it wasn't just them, his whole face was shining with some sort of an inner glow. _Raito, that sounds just like the English word for light, _Teru mused, _the moonlight, _he added when he recalled the kanji this name was written with. He took a sip of wine, his thoughts taking a way that was altogether unfamiliar to him. _The moonlight was said to inspire obsession and insanity. _And that was what he was starting to feel, obsession and even insanity. All it took was just to look at that luminous face, its vivid expression accompanied with rushed yet graceful hand movements.

Raito now seemed to make a joke of some kind, because the company roared with laughter.

"You're not enjoying yourself?" The writer startled Mikami with a sudden question.

"Yes, very much. It's impossible not to, in your company," he replied with a smile and then add, apologetically, "it's just that my thoughts keep trailing off."

"Oh, I see," Raito said, looking somewhat disappointed, "you're thinking about someone who's waiting for you at home."

"Not at all!" Teru denied forcefully, looked around to see if anyone wasn't paying them any attention and then added in much quieter voice:

"I'm thinking about you."

His gaze was fixed on his drink, but from the corner of his eye he could see Raito smiling.

It was getting late. The attorneys started to excuse themselves, because they had families waiting for them. Soon there were just the two of them.

Mikami glanced at his watch.

"I should be going, if I want to catch the last subway. It's about twenty minutes of walking from here."

Raito gave him an incredulous look.

"The subway? You haven't gotten here by car?"

"No, I haven't. Actually, I don't even have a car. I have no need to own one, because I live just three stations from my office. It's convenient, because I don't have to deal with traffic. I do have a driving license, though, in case a necessity might arise."

"I see. Well, let me drive you there. You shouldn't walk at night by yourself, especially in these expensive clothes."

With this Teru had to agree and they quitted the bar, Raito leaving a generous tip. While they were walking to the parking place the lawyer noticed that his companion's steps were more than a little bit unsteady; he actually had to hold onto Teru's arm from times to times, for otherwise he might have fallen.

"Is it alright for you to drive when you're like this?" the lawyer asked, worried, "I have a driving license too, so I can-"

"No. I wanna give you a ride," Raito grinned and there was no use in persuading him. They soon reached Raito's car, which turned out to be a silver Chevrolet, and drove off to the night.

"We're well past the subway station now," Mikami noted after a while.

"Of course we are. We're going to my place," Raito said with a smirk. On the second thought he added:

"If it's okay with you."

Teru was left speechless for a moment. Then he nodded. It was more then okay with him; actually, he had been thinking of something like that almost from the beginning of the evening, but he knew he would never gather the courage to initiate anything.

"Well, that's good," Raito said and increased the speed. He turned the music up loud and opened the windows, so that the cold night air lashed their faces.

Mikami was getting slightly nauseous; he vaguely remembered a party when one of his college friends made him drink tequila mixed with grape flavored Gatorade and then someone proposed a midnight ride to the beach. The world was now swirling in the similar way as then.

"You shouldn't be driving so fast," he yelled, trying to outvoice the noise.

Raito turned the music down and gave him a playful smile.

"But I want to get home as soon as possible," he said and gently pressed the other man's knee.

This made Mikami a little bit uncomfortable.

"Yes, of course, but still-"

"Don't worry, we're almost there," Raito said and in a minute or two they arrived at the underground parking garage of a huge apartment building. They went to the elevator.

It was there, in the cold, clear artificial light that lit the elevator when Teru finally became aware of what exactly he was doing. He was going to have sex with a man. After a first date that wasn't even a date. He, Teru Mikami, up to this day an honorable man, a perfect son, and a heterosexual.

He looked at Raito, who was leaning back against the wall in a slightly slacked posture with his hands in his pockets, obviously at ease. When Raito noticed Teru's gaze, he flashed him a smile - _was it reassuring or just drunken?_ and said:

"You've never done this before, Teru?"

The lawyer felt his cheeks grow warmer. Was he that obvious?

"No. You're the first man I- well, you know," he finished awkwardly.

"It's okay. There's nothing to be afraid of," Raito told him and stepped close to him, his fingertips slightly brushing the side of Teru's face.

"By the way," Raito leaned to his ear, whispering: "I'm honored."

The elevator stopped and they left.

The writer's apartment was quite large and expensively looking. Its decor bore definite traces of artistic taste.

The most of the apartment consisted of one big room divided into dining, living and working section and a kitchen corner. The furniture was very modern and elegant, but also gave an impression of coldness. There were various painting on the walls; the most prominent one hanging above the sofa was a modern variation of some biblical theme. Masses of people with fierce expressions on their faces were raising their hands as if to reach something that couldn't be seen in the picture. Extremely vivid colors the painter had used made the whole impression somewhat disturbing. Teru averted his gaze.

"Do you want a drink?" Raito's voice called from a kitchen corner.

"No, thank you, I've had enough," Mikami said, even though a small voice in his head told him that it would be better if he drank some more. _No, _he told himself firmly, _I want to be sober when it happens. _

Meanwhile Raito made himself a vodka with juice and turned off all the lights except the kitchen one that illuminated only its closest surroundings, leaving the rest immersed in dusk.

Then Raito had to press something – but Teru didn't see him doing that – for a music started to play, this time an unobtrusive, pleasant melody.

The lawyer took off his jacket and carefully laid it down on an armchair close to him.

"You're not gonna stop there, I hope?" Raito grinned, he himself having rid of his jacket just after they had come in, as well as of his tie. He was now hallway done with unbuttoning his shirt.

Mikami didn't say anything because he was afraid that his voice might tremble. Instead he proceeded with undressing as well.

Already in his underwear Raito approached the other man, took his face into his hands and kissed him. His tongue slipped between Teru's parted lips, probing and tasting. Teru could see circles of colorful light behind his eyelids, the swirling feeling once again taking over him.

When he heard himself moan he was shocked how needy it sounded.

That sound stimulated Raito to deepen the kiss even more, his hands trailing down the other's abdomen. His fingers were now sliding down the material of Teru's boxers, feeling the other man's arousal.

When he started to stroke his erection, the lawyer was sure that his knees wouldn't support him any longer.

"_Bed_," he breathed hoarsely. Raito's dark chuckle resonated in his ears.

"Now aren't we hasty," Raito whispered, wrapping his hand firmly around Teru's throbbing length. Before Teru's knees had the chance to collapse, he found himself half dragged, half carried somewhere, where he was pushed on the bed and finally stripped of the last piece of garment he wore.

His moaning became almost hysterical when he felt his cock swallowed by hot wetness of the other's mouth.

"You… you don't have to…" he felt obliged to say, even when everything in him screamed _Oh yes, just like that! _

The ajar door let in a feeble streak of light that sent red flickers dancing into Raito's eyes. _But I want to; I love this power I have over you_, Raito's expression said as he leaned forward and in one slowed motion swallowed his whole length, his eyes never leaving Teru's that were foggy with pleasure.

This was more than he could bear; he came in Raito's mouth, pleasure hitting him like a tidal wave. Then he laid there completely spent, panting heavily, and his conscience was gradually coming back to him. He felt as though he was lying in heaven where god himself touched him with his supernal light.

The said god left his side in searching for something. When he returned, Teru barely had any time to think about what was the purpose of this detour before he felt a cool liquid substance being spread on his inner tights.

"I'll be gentle," Raito promised, one of his fingers already finding its way to Teru's entrance.

"Oh my God, you're tight," he whispered, his arousal mounting. He gave his lover almost no time to adjust to the unfamiliar feeling of intrusion before he inserted the second finger.

Teru let out a sharp hiss of pain. Raito kissed him soothingly into a corner of his mouth.

The delightful mixture of pain and pleasure on the lawyer's face was almost too much for him, but he managed to restrain himself. His fingers were slowly moving in and out, his other hand caressing the other man's cock until it was erect again.

He never stopped stroking his erection, his lips capturing Teru's. He slowly withdrew his fingers and placed his shaft at Teru's entrance. The he sank his length in with one powerful thrust.

Teru winced and whimpered into his mouth, shutting his eyes closed.

It was alien and painful. He tried to relax, but the sense of intrusion was almost unbearable. It grew even worse when Raito started to move, slowly but forcefully.

Then the sharp pain turned to dull ache. Together with the hand stroking him and the burning lips kissing his mouth Teru felt the pleasure taking its place and his hips started to thrust back in response.

Sensing this, Raito increased the speed, slamming deeper and deeper with each stroke. Teru opened his eyes. Raito's exquisite flushed face added to his pleasure and he came into his hand, his lover pounding him down to the bed with a violent vehemence until he too reached his orgasm, spurting his load into him.

Then they were lying there, still joined, their breath steadying and sweated bodies growing cold, until Raito lazily reached for a blanket and covered them.

"I hope I didn't hurt you," he whispered with a sheepish smile.

"No," Teru replied and suddenly what was meant to be a brave lie actually turned into the truth when said aloud.

He snuggled closer to Raito, who stroked his hair.

"I love you," Teru said.

Raito chuckled.

"Now, now, no need to use such big words," he whispered, his hand drawing gentle circles on the other's face and neck, "but I can't say that I dislike you, either. Do you want to repeat this some other time?"

Teru pulled him into a kiss by the way of answer.

…

Most of the weeds he put at the compost heap, so that they would decompose and later serve as nutrition for new plants. But there were some that couldn't be put there, such as those in full flower that might release their seeds, or poisonous plants that would ruin the whole compost.

For these he made a small fire and watched it burn, its white smoke curl against the darkening sky.

The night tuned to other nights and nights turned to days, eventually. That was how relationships like that worked, right? They started with accidental sex turning into habitual one and later came living together, because it saved time and expenses. That was all; usually no unnecessary emotions had to be involved. Their relationship had been developing exactly according to this scheme. Expect that from that very first night, Teru was in love.

_I don't dislike you. Not exactly a confession. _But it was just a one night then and besides, Raito as a writer saw these emotions in a different light – they were much less sacred to him because he had seen them from the inside, had to dissect them to be able to find their essence. When analyzed like that, even love inevitably loses part of its charm. At least that was how Mikami tried to justify it. Justification was the lawyer's strong point.

When all the weeds were burnt, he carefully poured some water on the ashes and walked away to the fence, opening a door that lead to a narrow pathway in the trees. He followed it.

**TBC**


	3. Statues and Living Things

_A/N: When writing this chapter I was inspired by the beautiful music of American pianist Dustin O'Halloran. I recommend it to everyone who likes piano solos; you surely can find it somewhere on youtube. _

_I have to do some work for a change now, so I probably won't have any time for writing till middle of September. But maybe, who knows, some reviews would motivate me to start sooner? Oh, and I thank to the three people who reviewed. You're my heroes!_

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**Chapter ****III – Statues and Living Things**

As Raito drove up the hill, the white building of the sanatorium appeared in his view. His visits had become a habit now; not in a sense of going here every Sunday, but there were times when he suddenly felt the urge to come, so he dropped everything he was doing, got in his car and drove away; and this usually happened about twice a week.

"I'm afraid that you can't see your friend right now. Doctor Morino is examining him," a young brunette told Raito with an apologetic smile. Raito returned her smile, giving her a scrutinizing look. She really was young, Raito thought, barely more than twenty or twenty-one. She had warm brown eyes and chestnut hair encircling a pleasant heart-shaped face, which was often betraying even her innermost emotions.

She bore his gaze for one long moment, trying not to stare back at him, painfully conscious of his attractiveness, before she felt herself blushing and hastily turned to leave.

"Is there some place I can wait for him?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I should have told you," she answered in a hurry, unsuccessfully trying to hide her embarrassment. "There is a visitor lounge on this floor. I'll take you there."

Raito's smile widened, as he allowed himself to be led into the lounge. It was a nice light room with large windows, furnished with comfortable cushioned beige armchairs and small white lacquered coffee tables. The windows gave view to the part of the garden he hadn't seen before. Its dominating feature was a white marble fountain that stood in a small paved circle surrounded by benches.

There was a couple of paintings on the wall; nothing extraordinary, Raito noted, but luckily it also wasn't those pathetic children pictures you get to see in some clinics, like _me and mommy and our doggie that I dunno if I ever get to see again coz I'm here all alone in this ugly hospital, having nothing better to do than drawing crappy pictures_. _Oh God, it wasn't even in a children's ward, _Raito thought with contempt, remembering the time he came to see his father after his stroke.

"May I offer you a cup of coffee?" The nurse asked him, turning his attention back to the present.

"Only if you get one as well… Fujimi-san," Raito answered courteously, having read her name out of her name badge.

Haruka Fujimi felt she was beginning to blush again. _This would not go, _she decided and this time managed to cover her embarrassment with a laugh.

"But I have patients to attend; the staff nurse would be beside herself if she found me slacking off," she objected, but the tone her voice betrayed that it wouldn't take much to persuade her.

That was indeed the case; before long they were both comfortably seated, drinking freshly brew coffee.

"It's sweet of you to care so much about your friend." Haruka was first to break the silence, "you're the only one now who visits him. His grandfather used to, but he's been taken ill of late."

If Raito was surprised by this piece of information, he didn't let it show.

"What about his family?" he asked. "It may seem strange that it's me who is asking you, but he never speaks of them. He only mentioned his grandfather once or twice. And Lawliett is, well, I don't know how to put it, but I somehow cannot bring myself to ask him about certain things directly. It's like I am afraid it would affect him, which doesn't make much sense really, because he acts as if nothing ever got through to him …"

Raito was now speaking more to himself than to the nurse, but she didn't seem to mind.

"I see what you mean," she said earnestly, "he seems to be in a world of his own. It must be hard to follow him there."

Raito now regarded her with a new found respect. He could observe that there was already certain wisdom hidden by girly awkwardness in this woman.

Their conversation continued revolving around L, getting more confidential by the minute. This was certainly Raito's strong point - when he wanted he could easily win anyone's trust and people would tell him things they would never dream of disclosing to a stranger.

He already suspected his friend of having a difficult past, yet the things he learnt now took him by surprise.

Mr. Wammy wasn't Lawliett's true grandfather, Haruka said, he had adopted him as his grandson a few years ago. He would have adopted him as his son, but the law rendered it impossible with his parents both alive.

Haruka didn't know much about them, only that they probably weren't the best of parents because Lawliett ran away from them in the age of fifteen and a lived on the streets. It was there when he became a drug addict and eventually ruined his health. Then Mr. Wammy discovered him and his talent and decided to save him. But his case was a difficult one and required long convalescence.

The nurse stopped here and took a sip of her now cold coffee and observed the strong impression her narrative had made on her companion. Raito too had completely forgotten his beverage and was watching her with an expression of shock mingled with a trace of sadness.

"But I must tell you," she continued hastily, feeling bad for making someone sad, "that his conditions have been improving. He eats more, although it's unfortunately hardly anything substantial, with him having such a sweet tooth. He has been even walking by himself a little."

"I would almost say," she said with a smile, "that the improvement began when you started to visit him. Well, _I _would certainly feel better if I had a friend like you who would visit me so often," she finished light-heartedly.

This drew a small smile from Raito. He put down his cup and rose from his armchair. His eyes trailed out the window and were captured by the gentle streams of water gleaming in the sunlight.

Raito noticed that the fountain had a small statue one its top, but couldn't tell what it represented. _A bird, perhaps, _he thought, _what a curious choice. _

"It's beautiful," he commented.

"Oh, that's all thanks to Mr. Wammy. He donates us vast sums of money every month, I mean in addition to the regular charges. This donation paid for the reconstruction of the garden, including the fountain. Doctor Morino said he is the most generous benefactor our sanatorium has ever had- speaking of Dr. Morino, the examination is probably over by now," she said and escorted Raito to L's room.

…

"Do you care to go to the fountain?"

"If Raito-kun wishes so. Thank you for not saying_ my_ fountain. The staff here has developed an uncanny habit of doing that," L said with a small scowl.

"I'll remember that," Raito promised.

They went on, talking about various subjects that interested them. Raito usually enjoyed their discussions very much, but he found himself distracted today. He couldn't get those disturbing images from his mind; this man who at times seemed so out of this world as a dirty street junkie doing anything to get his dose- it was somehow painful.

He realized that L had just asked him something, but didn't hear the actual words.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. What did you say?"

"I suggested that we could stop here, if you don't mind. I want to try to walk there," L said, moving his hand in the direction of the fountain which was now about twenty steps from them.

Raito's eyes lit up.

"Oh, sure. Come on, I'll give you a hand."

L took the offered hand and Raito held it very carefully, as though it was made of glass, helping the other man to stand up. Raito watched his crouched, sickly posture and felt an unfamiliar tightness squeezing his throat.

L got hold of his arm and made a tentative step. Then the other and one more. Two, three, four steps. Then he swayed a little and strengthened his grip. Raito automatically moved his other hand on the poet's back, moving his body closer to his.

L's head was slightly touching his shoulder and Raito could feel his quickened breath. Raito thought that they could stand like this forever, warm and breathing sculpture with two beating hearts. Then the poet looked away.

"Look," he said, raising his hand and laying it on the tree beside them. Raito watched the white hand with long skinny fingers lie placidly on the rough dark brown bark before he noticed the thing L had referred too. It was a small black beetle with shiny wing-cases; it ran across the bark and when it reached the hand it crawled onto it, settling itself between the knuckles.

Raito saw the fascination with which L followed the tiniest movement of its stringy legs and felt an absurd pang of jealousy. He had a sudden vision that with all his good looks, social skills and achievements he couldn't elicit such admiration from this wide-eyed creature as this insignificant beetle that didn't do anything but exist. Raito felt a violent urge to shed it off and step on it.

Suddenly the beetle left its temporary nest and ran up L's hand, hiding under his long white sleeve. Raito's hands moved by themselves, rolling the sleeve up. The beetle flew away in the very next instant, but Raito continued to roll the sleeve past L's elbow, staring at the pale skin of the other's forearm with badly concealed perplexity. The delicate map of blue veins seemed as perfect as a pattern of a butterfly's wing.

L's eyes met his.

"I see that you're wondering why you can't see any scars. It's been some time now, they are healed," he said and then added with a wan smile:

"I think that I'm putting walking off on some other day."

Raito brought the wheelchair, feeling slightly ashamed for no reason. They continued to the fountain. There was no one sitting on the benches; sun was hidden by a curtain of clouds and the day grew colder, no longer drawing the patients outside.

The statue on the top was, as Raito could now see, indeed a bird. The water that gleamed even without the sunrays, this time giving an impression of coolness, flew from under its wings so it looked as a liquid air was upholding it in its position, like it was on the point of mounting – _but still it stays here, forever frozen in this motion - _

"Just for your information," L resumed their previous conversation, "Some people have very feeble veins on their forearm, so soon they are forced to shoot the drug in other places," he spoke in a voice as indifferent as if he was discussing the matter out of purely scientific interest.

"Such as, for example, their ankles, necks and sometimes even eyes."

Raito felt a violent shiver running through him. Black eyes stared back at him seemingly as impassively as before, but at this moment he felt this gaze with piercing intensity.

Now he saw it wasn't innocence that attracted him to this man – yes, he had already admitted to himself that mere friendship no longer satisfied him – but something else. Only he couldn't name it.

He couldn't bear L's gaze and resumed his usual place behind the wheelchair. His eyes now stared at the back of L's head. Raito swallowed. That was certainly not the best choice, because now his eyes were inevitably drawn to the lustrous, unblemished skin of L's neck.

His vision was getting blurry as he was leaning forward and before he knew it he was touching that white skin with his lips, kissing it gently yet passionately like a worshipper might kiss a statue of a saint.

"What are you doing?" a calm voice asked him.

"Nothing you wouldn't like," Raito whispered.

L didn't object, but he also didn't give any sign of assent. Raito continued to place fleeting kisses on the nape of his neck, while the poet sat there perfectly still. He didn't say a word, nor did he make any of those little noises people sometimes tend to do when touched in this way; no, he was calm and silent. But that didn't mean that he was reproaching; his body wasn't stiff, but pliant in Raito's hands. These hands soon followed the lips, caressing L's shoulders before slowly sliding down his torso.

Raito felt a slight tremor running under his touch, like an electric impulse. It made him rise to approach the other man from the front to see what was in his eyes, wanting to see himself there, his own image held with fascination-

But he was stopped when a hand grasped his own and the touch was strangely semblant to the one before, when L held onto him to keep from falling, and it made Raito think of a man drowning in the sea that was nothing more than a mass of grey coldness stretching from horizon to horizon.

"Raito," L finally spoke and his voice was now unfamiliarly hesitant, "you shouldn't be doing this. I… I feel cold. Drive me back, please."

"As you wish," Raito mumbled and felt his shame going back, mixed with disappointment and something else, soft and unnamable.

His eyes were roaming through the garden, not finding any solace in the gifts of nature. It rather made him think of a cheerless simile; like this place, his life too was falsely unrestricted and free, swaying to this direction or that, but in the end there were always dull brick walls that left him trapped and powerless.

The worst of all was the conduct of other human beings – their unpredictability he praised, admired and it inspired his works, but it became unbearable at times. Like in this moment. He felt clueless and even inferior, as though he was facing a creature of some indefinable higher status, an ethereal existence – even after the prosaic revelations he had made.

"I want to ask you," Raito said, breaking the awkward silence that stretched between them, "how did you know that I knew, when I was- I mean, when that beetle-"

"Fujimi-san likes to talk about personal affairs of others," L replied mildly, "she tells me all kinds of things when she attends to me. When the two of you entered my room you exchanged a secret glance that was mixed with guilt on Fujimi-san's part. Well, it's not hard to see what happened. But can you please tell me what exactly she said?"

Raito told him.

"The information you've got is incorrect. I had been living on the streets for a given period of time when I left home, but I didn't take to drugs then. It was after Mr. Wammy adopted me. Finding myself living in abundance caught me off guard; when you have everything you dream of fulfilled so abruptly and not even by your own doing, it leaves you empty. Or at least that is what happened to me, Raito-kun. What do you think?"

"I'm glad that you have found another way of filling the emptiness," Raito replied, uneasy.

They approached the linden road. There were no sunrays to play with leaves; the trees seemed to cringe somehow under the heavy cloudy sky.

"You mean my poetry?" L asked with a blank expression.

"Of course."

"Then you're mistaken again. Actually I had been writing since I was a child. I have long ago stopped to dream that it would help me; I just write it to try to help the others."

Raito felt his throat tighten again. His usual eloquence left him completely. The only thing he could do was to caress the cold white hand with his fingertips, ever so slightly, as though little beetles were running over it.

**TBC**


	4. The Sound of Fury

_A/N: Hello there, thank you for your reviews. They made me write this chapter instead of doing my work, so now you are guilty of me living on instant Chinese soups. Just kidding. I'm not that altruistic; I really enjoy writing this story. But reviews still mean a lot to me. _

_For those who want more L/Raito – it will get there, don't be afraid. But I don't like to think about this story as of a pairing fic. Yes, it's centered on the relationship between the three main characters, but I'm trying to make it something more. See it for yourself if I succeed or not. Well, enjoy your reading!_

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**Chapter IV - ****The Sound of Fury**

The passage led him through a wood that wasn't too thick, it was actually just a tree here and there, but the falling dusk made it appear denser and more compact, almost oppressing. Teru was glad he finally reached the open air. He found himself on a riverbank, which was made of concrete, but the gray mass was disrupted by many cracks that nobody cared to repair, and fresh spring grass pushed up from them.

Teru sat down on the bank, stretching his legs. He had a little time left before he had to leave for the train station and wanted to spend it here. He liked this place because it was connected with one of the only two memories he had of his father.

In this one they were standing here on the bank, his father looking down on him from an incredible height – Teru had been wondering for years if his father was that tall or he himself that small, and was now inclining towards the second opinion – with a kind smile, talking about something in a grave yet gentle voice, which people don't usually use when addressing a child of three. Teru could never remember the actual words, only the tone of that voice.

When he was growing up and was forced to face many hardships from his peers, because he just didn't fit in, always speaking up when the others chose to be silent, he tried to remember those words. Lying in his bed with the blanket drawn up to his chin – their apartment always grew cold at night – he had imagined them to be a kind of important message, something like he wasn't going to be like other people – which actually did prove to be the case in some respects – that he was going to do something valuable for the others and they would respect him for that.

His father died of cancer at the age of 52, leaving his much younger wife the duty to remember him to their son, who was four years old. And that she did. She never married again and Matsuhito Mikami stayed the only man of her life, one who was always in her heart - and on her mind as well.

She took Teru to his father's grave every week, talking about what had happened to them from their last visit. Teru used to do that, too, but the memory of his father was growing dim and soon this was more a ritual of a sort than anything else. One day his mother's younger sister came with them and when she saw this, she broke into tears and wouldn't stop. "Keiko, Keiko," she would only say between her sobs – that was Teru´s mother's first name – and nothing could sooth her, until they finally left.

This incident had happened just before Teru first went to school. Soon after that he stopped talking to his father, because he became aware of the people staring at them. But his mother didn't. On the contrary it now seemed as though she wished to make up for her son's silence, talking longer and louder. Every time Teru felt someone's eyes on them he was praying passionately that they would think she talked to him. At the same time he knew that he hoped in vain, considering the way she was doing that – kneeling before the grave and always fixing it with her stare, not even once looking at her son who stood by her side. He felt his cheeks flare up in humiliation and wished that she stopped, but he couldn't tell her to, because it would break her heart.

But he never wanted to stop her when she talked about his father at home.

"He was a great man," she often said and Teru readily agreed with her.

Matsuhito Mikami was a journalist who lost his job due to numerous conflicts with his superiors. From his mother Teru learnt that his father's livelong pursuit was the Minamata disaster, a case that horrified Japan in the 1950s. Chemical factory had been poisoning the fishing waters of Minamata Bay for more then twenty years and all that time people of local fisherman community had been dying of an unknown yet very painful disease, until finally it was recognized as mercury poisoning.

Matsuhito, whose career had then just started, was there and he was shocked by the attitude of that factory; not only did they refuse to take any responsibility for the suffering of those people, but they didn't even stopped the poisoning. They just transferred the dumping of their lethal waste from Minamata Bay to Minamata River, causing more people die. It took another ten years before the government made the end of it.

Matsuhito was forced to move to other cases, but the Minamata disaster remained his obsession. When Teru was three, his father discovered new facts about bribed politicians who made it all possible, letting people die in a horrid way just to get more money and power, but the editor wouldn't publish it because that particular political party sponsored their newspaper. This lead to the series of arguments between the journalist and the editor that ended by Matsuhito being forced to leave his job.

"He was fired because he wanted to write the truth," his mother explained, "even when no one else wanted to know it."

The second memory started with clicking of the keys of a typewriter. In these times already personal computers were getting common, especially the famous _wāpuro_ was gaining quick popularity, but Mutsuhito's generation often looked skeptic on these technological advances and clang to their typewriters.

Teru's father was bitter, hating the position he had gotten his family into. His wife didn't return to work after maternity leave because of her weak health; they were soon running low of money and had to depend on the help of Keiko's parents.

Matsuhito spent his days writing job applicant letters and reading responses that were all polite and vaguely encouraging – which in Japan means they were negative.

One evening, when Teru was slowly falling to sleep, soothed by the clicking sound of typewriter keys, this sound suddenly stopped. Then he was abruptly roused from his slumber by a horrible yell of rage and a loud crash, followed by other noises.

Teru hid his head under his blanket, scared to death. He was sure that one of the demons from his fairy tale book had broken into their house, and he was praying that the demon would just get over it and eat him so the terrible noise would cease.

That was where his memory ended.

Some years later he decided to ask his mother about that.

"Oh, that was the ferrets," she answered.

"Ferrets?" Teru repeated, puzzled, "I don't remember that we had any pets."

His mother laughed slightly.

"No, let me explain," she said.

"It was when your father was trying to find a new job. One paper had finally agreed to employ him on the condition that he would be in the entertainment section. His first article was something about ferrets, because they had been popular as pets at that time. He was disgusted, of course, but accepted it for our sake. But when he almost finished his article, he was so furious with himself – seeing how low he had sunk from his purpose, from things like the Minamata disaster – that he ripped the article to pieces and then smashed his typewriter. He yelled that he was never going to write anything again and that he would rather become a dockworker," his mother said with a small smile playing at her lips.

"Anyway, when he got sober in the morning – yes, there was some liquor involved the night before – he found the pieces of the article and rewrote them by hand, because the poor typewriter was done for, and sent them to that paper. They were very pleased with him, and later they resent him some letters from people who complimented on his article, saying it was the best thing on ferrets they had ever read. It amused him a lot."

She paused for a while and then said:

"I think he made you a paper ferret from one of those letters, don't you remember?"

Teru shook his head in negation.

That was how he learned that great men could have their faults that made them even greater.

Teru rose from the riverbank, slightly dissatisfied. Sometimes the stars were beautiful from here, floating gently on the river surface and making him want to immerse in the dark water. But today was not on of those days; stars were all hidden by clouds. He glanced at his watch. It was time to leave now.

He returned to the weekend-house to change.

It was a small, simple building that his father bought some time before his son was born, planning on making it a place that would symbolize the unity of their small family, a place of which they would have the best memories.

They continued to go there after Matsuhito's death, but it was somehow painful for his mother – this place was a reminder of unfulfilled dreams of her short marriage, of a future together that never came.

Teru was worried by his mother's wistful eyes, but couldn't help feeling happy and free when he played in the garden and in the wood, where he sometimes met children from other weekend-houses in the area, but most of the times he was alone, which he didn't mind at all. There was no one to bully him and no one he would feel the urge to protect; he was truly free to wander by himself, pretending to be whichever hero it was he admired at the time.

He was happiest when they came with his mother's younger sister, that one that cried at his father's grave. His mother would cheer up a little, letting her talk about her studies at the university and for her part she boasted with Teru's achievements, which she made habit of doing since he entered the first grade.

That always made him feel pleased and ashamed at the same time.

When it was getting dark and he couldn't play outside anymore, he came to the house and they would gather around the small kitchen table, eat dinner and then play card and board games together. His aunt always laughed very loud and teased him when he lost and he teased her back, and his mother looked at them with bright eyes that were almost happy.

He buttoned his jacket and his eyes trailed to an old wardrobe. The games were still there, piled on the top of it.

_For your children, one day, they might like it, _his mother argued when they were cleaning here last summer and he contemplated throwing them away. Teru winced at the memory.

He finally left the house. The air grew humid and unpleasant and he was glad he reached the railway station, not enjoying his short walk as he usually did.

The same applied for the train ride. Usually he liked to sit down for those two hours, with his limbs slightly sore from the strain of work, take out some office work and gradually, without doing himself much harm, his weekend moral transformed into the workday one. Before he arrived at the city, he was alert and ready to face whatever next week had in store for him.

But this evening found him fruitlessly leafing through his papers, not really perceiving their content. It fortunately wasn't anything urgent. He finally shut up the file and let his eyes wander out of the window.

This was one of the older trains, not one of those fast ones. He could see houses with their yellow gleaming windows and bluish white light of the streetlamps without it being merged into a single bright smudge that made the existence of human beings behind it appear surreal.

No, he could see those inviting pools of light quite clearly and he felt attracted to them, realizing with sudden clarity that his own home would be dark, until he himself pressed the switch. For Raito rarely returned before midnight these days, and more often than not he was intoxicated and angry for some reason Teru couldn't tell, or was afraid to do so.

He tore his eyes off the evening scenery, scanning now the faces of his fellow passengers. There were businessmen sleeping or tiredly hunching over their laptops, looking as though they were forced to work even on weekends - which they probably were, Mikami thought – but they were outnumbered by families returning from trips. Husbands looked relaxed and complacent, reading their newspapers or talking to their wives, who occasionally let out a trill of laughter, and many of the children quickly made friends with each other, forgetting themselves in play that sometimes had to be interrupted by their parents when it got too wild. _True image of Sunday evening joy._

But the strange anxiety that got hold of Mikami made all of this happiness appear false, like everyone was wearing a clown mask on a sad or furious face. That was why he generally disliked parties and other social events; the wilder it got, the more forced it all seemed, smiles were just morbid convulsions of facial muscles and laughter rattling of dry bones…

He shook his head. Such gloomy thoughts weren't like him; he didn't know what possessed him. He watched a girl of six or so showing her mother a picture in her book, prattling away cheerfully, and he couldn't find any pretense in that.

A voice announced the name of the station they approached. Teru remembered that there was a disaster three weeks prior in this area, when a bridge fell on a passing train and killed twelve people. They were people just like them, returning from their weekend… The faces of his fellow passengers suddenly looked distorted again, mocking him with their cheerfulness.

He shook his head again and closed his eyes.

_What is it with me today? __That must be the weather, _he thought when the train finally arrived at their destination and he felt a sharp wind biting his face. It looked like a storm was coming.

When he got home, it was as dark and empty as he expected. Only a few dirty dishes left on the table betrayed that Raito had been here today.

He put them in the dishwasher and thought about the dinner. Usually he returned absolutely starving after having spent the day in the open air, but again, today he almost wasn't hungry at all. His stomach felt tight, constricted by the anxiety that wouldn't go away.

He just took some bread with salami and said to himself that Raito wouldn't mind having that as well, if he wanted to eat after his return. He really didn't care much about what he ate, or even if he ate at all, especially when he was immersed in his writing. Teru sometimes thought that Raito would simply starve to death if he didn't provide him with victuals in regular intervals.

Then he took out a book in a simple blue hard cover. It was his home economy book. He spread a bunch of bills on the table desk and meticulously copied all their expenses to the allocated columns.

Raito didn't have much understanding for that. He was genuinely surprised that Mikami insisted on sharing the expenses half to half, because even now his monetary means were inferior to Raito's, who not only came from a well-off family, but also made quite a fortune by his books, especially when a couple of them was made a movie.

Teru, for his part, although he didn't say it aloud, thought of it as of a way of maintaining equality between them. _Or at least an illusion of it,_ said a little mocking voice in the back of his head that he didn't know how to put to silence any more, _illusion of equality in an illusion of relationship, how fitting. _

He laid down his pen, tired. His eyes fell on a different book. It was _Light in the Leaves_, lying at the other end of the table. He reached for it and gave its black cover a hard look. There was a picture of an illuminated alleyway on the front. It didn't arouse any sentiments in him except for the anxiety that was already there.

He didn't understand poetry but felt obliged to try to read this anyway, since it was so important for Raito. But he couldn't make himself do so; when he opened it and read a few words, he closed it again. _The pale maggot of the moon ate my face. _That kind of thing just wasn't made for him.

But although the words failed to affect him, the book itself, a handful of printed papers bound together in a black shiny cover, seemed to him somehow alive, substituting the presence of its author, the man about whom Teru heard so much.

First he was just amazed that Raito was visiting a sick person, because it wasn't like him at all. While his own father was hospitalized for three months, Raito visited him only twice, because he was then finishing a book that was important for him.

Teru looked again at the picture on the cover, and thought that the poet looked as though he was on the verge of dying. Of course it was because he was so unnaturally pale and thin, but it wasn't only that. After all, Teru knew pale and skinny people who didn't give him this impression.

"It's the nose," his mother's sister once said, after she had started to work in a hospital, "you can see that somebody is dying on his nose. It gets pointy."

Teru didn't know if she was right in saying that, but there was just something in that face - some kind of shade creeping over it, certain hollowness in the eyes – something that made him think of death.

He laid down the book, shivering at the thought that it was to this ghost-like person that Raito devoted so much of his time.

"No, it is the right thing to do," he told himself, it was noble of Raito to visit someone who was so sick and lonely – as Raito told him – and to discuss poetry and all the other things that interested them and Teru knew nothing about. Yet he felt a coldness seizing his heart at that thought, at the memory of how Raito's eyes lit up when he talked about him. There was another thing Teru marveled at – that Raito showed such respect for that man. He remembered many occasions when they attended a dinner or reception together and Raito seemed perfectly humble and polite with everyone, and then talked about those people in the most disrespectful manner after they returned home.

_He's brilliant, _Raito would say now, _sometimes I feel as though he could read my mind. _Deep down Teru thought that if Raito just picked someone at the bar and slept with him and then came home, it would be easier to bear than this.

He reached for the TV remote controller in a desperate need of some distraction. But there was nothing particularly interesting on; soon he found himself swapping the channels at random after every five seconds or so. Eventually he stumbled upon some old French movie. He thought of dusting off some of his high school French, but found that he understood too little to enjoy it.

"J'ai besoin de toi," said a woman with long black eyelashes.

"Pas moi, I'll pass," Teru replied, turning the TV off.

Just in that moment the storm came, with blue flashes of lightening splitting up the sky. He stood at the window and watched it for a moment, although it didn't bring him much enjoyment. He actually disliked storms. They were overly dramatic for his taste.

There was a loud crack of thunderclap,

_just__ when they reached the recreational area and hid under the overlapping roof of one of the cottages. _

"_God's sound", Raito said and then added, when he saw Mikami giving him a puzzled look, "That's the original meaning of kaminari –a thunderclap." _

"_The sound of God's fury, it seems to me," Teru mumbled and Raito laughed, with flashes of lightening reflecting in his eyes. _

_The dark silhouettes of the trees__ swayed in the raging wind and the heavy rain fell on the land with the same cruelty a whip would fall on the back of the punished. God's fury was still on Teru's mind and Raito laughed and laughed with sheer abandon. _

_Thunder roared again and Teru unconsciously pressed his back to the wall, feeling its rough surface under the thin material of his shirt. Raito finally stopped laughing and moved closer to him. He gave him a kiss, wet and hard. Another flash ran behind Teru's tightly shut eyelids, and _

the door closed with a heavy thud. Raito entered, unceremoniously knocked off his wet, dirty shoes and stumbled forward to an armchair, sagging into it.

"Gimme something to drink," he commanded without even bothering to say hello.

"I said give me something to drink! NOW!" he yelled when Teru didn't move from his place and stared at him with his eyes opened wide.

His body finally moved on its own accord and he poured Raito a glass of water. When he handed it to him, Raito angrily smashed it to the ground.

"That's not what I meant and you know it!"

Teru finally got over his initial shock and tried to calmly asses the situation. This had happened before, but it was never so bad. Refusing now wouldn't get him anywhere; but he just couldn't give him more alcohol! He settled with making Raito a vodka with juice, using lot of juice and little vodka.

This time Raito accepted the glass and took a sip. Then he gave Mikami an ugly grimace.

"Trying to trick me, are you?"

Teru stayed silent and fetched a short-handled brush and shovel, sweeping the shreds of the glass Raito had broken off the parquet floor.

He desperately wished that Raito would just fall asleep where he was, but a furtive look he sent in that direction dispelled his hope, because the writer looked awake and alert, his eyes flashing with dim, malicious light and his fingers tapping in a rhythm that disturbingly varied from the beat of the rain.

Teru couldn't stand to watch him; when the glass shreds were safely disposed of, he started to frantically scrubbing a kitchen counter.

"That's all you can do, stupid cleaning?" Raito snapped, "You're wasting yourself on fucking slavery like cleaning and gardening. What good does it to anyone?"

It was obvious that Raito wanted him to fight back. Mikami bit his lower lip, telling himself that he wouldn't be provoked.

"It must be done," he replied stiffly with his back still turned to Raito.

Raito snorted.

"Yes, but not by you. We should pay someone to do it."

"I don't want any stranger coming to our apartment. She would look at us in a strange way-"

"She wouldn't if we pay her enough," Raito interrupted him.

"Well, then she would think to herself that-"

"Why would you care what a goddamn cleaning woman thinks? She can think that we are a pair of giant mutant carrots for all I care, as long as she is doing her work."

The lawyer finally turned to face him, exasperated.

"Is it enough to say that it would bother me? I'd rather take care of it myself."

Raito rose from the armchair and approached him.

"That's your problem, Mikami. You don't have a vision," he said cruelly, "you can only do tasks that don't require any imagination – at your job as well as at home, because there is nothing better you can think of. Just look at yourself."

Teru realized he was clutching a sponge and let go of it, feeling absurdly ashamed. _He is drunk and what's more important, absolutely wrong, _he thought, but it didn't bring him any solace.

Raito came very close to him and the unpleasant smell of alcohol invaded Teru's nostrils. He wanted to back away, but almost immediately hit the counter. Raito got hold of his arms, digging his nails painfully into his flesh.

"That's what it is all about with you," Raito continued mercilessly, "tasks and regularity, things that must be done at eight and things that can't be done after twelve. I wonder what Lawliett would think of you – if he would stop to think about you at all. Because Lawliett is…Lawliett is… "

Raito let off his hands and his eyes acquired a softer, distant look.

"He reminds me of an angel, you know," Raito said, "yes, an angel with an aureole of light. I wish I knew how to paint. If I could paint, I would try to capture that light."

_So this__ is what he calls a vision, _Teru thought bitterly, _drunken gibberish. _

"He's so high above me he should scorn me because I am unworthy, but he is so high that even scorning someone would be beneath him. And you know what?" Raito suddenly let out wry, distorted laugh, "back then, he was a fucking junkie. Angel of light was sticking dirty needles into his alabaster arms. "

"You mean that he was addicted to drugs?" Mikami asked, appalled by the idea of the company Raito sought out.

"_You mean that he was addicted to drugs?" _Raito repeated mockingly, "hell, yes, that's what I just said in case you didn't notice."

Teru ignored that remark.

"Has he really quitted?"

"Are you stupid or what?" Raito said with a sneer, "Of course that he quitted, otherwise they wouldn't let him in the Linden Hills. But you know, I think he was doing it to himself 'cause he was searching for something- I feel I can understand that- but you can't, can you? Oh no, you know nothing about it, you never felt this despair…"

This finally served to break Teru's composure.

"Of course I know nothing and I feel nothing, how could it be otherwise," he snapped bitterly, "It's only you and him who are entitled to these privileges. Because you have your visions as you call them. I'm sorry, but I would think twice to ruin my health just because… " He paused to draw a sharp intake of breath a threw his hand in the direction of the book on the table, "Just because I wanted to see the moon as some maggot_. _"

Raito's right hand swung on its own accord, hitting Teru in the face. The strength of the blow knocked the lawyer to the ground and for the moment he just sat there with one hand covering his eye. Raito towered over him and in his face there was a mix of anger and hurt, as if it had been himself who had been hit.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean that," Teru heard himself babble and felt nauseous, _what am I apologizing for, it should be him, but he looks so miserable-what should I do, I just don't know…_

Raito's eyes suddenly grew distant again and he slowly retreated to the back of the room. His lips were moving soundlessly as he opened his laptop and started to write.

Teru said something to Raito – he didn't even know what – called at him, even begged him to talk to him, but he didn't pay him any attention, fully absorbed in his writing.

Finally Teru staggered to the bedroom and undressed. He hid his hot bruised face under a pillow and listened to the thunderclaps, thinking of how his father smashed his typewriter.

**TBC**

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A/N: Before I forget – _wāpuro_ is the Japanese word for word-processor, which is something like a laptop but can be used for writing only. It was very popular throughout 80s and early 90s, before it was replaced by real laptops. Oh, and _J´ai besoin de toi_ means _I need you _in French_. _


	5. Nicer Word for Despair

_Long time no see, my dear readers! No, as you can see, I have not ab__andoned this story, nor have I any intention to do so. Just have patience with me, for the frequency of updates is not up to me to decide. Thanks go to everyone who reviewed. To Rin Cho: Yes, this story basically does have three separate main characters, but I've never said they would all be granted equal POVs and amount of space in this story – and I've never planned to do so. I know that the summary is confusing. I must try think of something better as soon as possible, but I'm just…erm… let's face it – lazy. Anyway, enjoy your chapter! _

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**Chapter V – Nicer Word for Despair**

_And moths are attracted to the light, and the light consumes them. _

When he woke up, first thing he became aware of was the pain piercing his temples.

"Shit," he cursed when he moved to sitting position and the pain worsened. It felt like someone was poking his head with a sharpened stick, trying to bring forward whatever it was that supposedly lived there.

_Fuck, how much did I have last night? _Raito mused as he stumbled forward, half blind, to the bathroom, where he fumbled for a moment with the drugs on the shelf, until he found the painkillers he needed so desperately.

He took two and drank a glass of water. The sharpened stick was duly withdrawn; its holder probably found what he was looking for and took it away. Consequently, Raito wasn't able to formulate a single coherent thought.

_Well, no surprise at_, he glanced at the nearest clock, _8:13 AM. Way too early to be alive. _

He went to the kitchen corner where he noticed that the coffee-pot was full and poured himself some, first breathing in the delicious smell and then drinking, leisurely and with sheer delight, until the unpleasant taste in his mouth almost disappeared.

As he drank, discontinuous flashes of memories were slowly emerging from the haze hovering over his brain, until they assembled into the whole picture. It wasn't a nice one.

He felt bad when L refused him – _but was it really a refusal? –_ excused himself as soon as possible and went to a bar his acquaintances frequented, as was the case that evening. He was funny, witty and sarcastic, and everyone admired him. Theirs and his own laughter rang so hollow in his ears that he almost felt like crying.

And then she came, the symbolic last drop with her red lips and short black skirt and her crush on him not diminished in the least. _Oh, Raito, I miss you so much that I can_'_t sleep at night, oh baby, I need you so- _wait a moment, were those her actual words or of one of those dimwitted songs they played all the time, he wondered for a moment, _but well, what difference does it make anyway? _

Stupid song or stupid ex-girlfriend, whichever of these it was that got him so fed up – or possibly these two combined – he just threw the necessary sum on the table and headed for home.

And here – the picture was once more getting blurry, what was he doing, drinking again? A fresh wave of pain seized his forehead. He should have thought better, being drunk as a lord already, but no, he just _had _to get one more glass.

He finished his coffee and looked about himself. There was a tray with fresh pastry, producing that kind of inviting smell that lured people into expensive bakeries even after they swore never to set their foot in there again. He happily took a croissant, but this moment of joy disappeared as swiftly as it came, because he was struck by something akin to guilt.

He recalled the overwhelming anger he had felt – he couldn't tell now why exactly – and the blow, and the look on Mikami's face – as though he was apologizing for something. _No, _Raito realized, somehow amazed, _he actually _was _apologizing. What the hell for? _

_For being so pathetic, _an ugly thought forced itself on him. But really, letting him treat him like that and then bring _breakfast _in the morning – Raito just didn't find any other way to describe it.

He looked for some kind of reproachful message, but there was none, just as he expected.

He put the croissant down, his appetite gone. Instead his yesterday anger was returning gradually. He was mad at himself and he was mad at Mikami because he had made him act in such a pitiful way, him who detested primitive acts of violence. He grimaced as he stared at his hands.

Then he thought that perhaps he was overreacting, it wasn't as though he killed anyone, it was just a blow, no need for so much fuss, because it

_was horrible. They were __eventually beating me every day and I- well, it brought me consolation that at least no one else was suffering, that I was enough for them. And I could bear it – I had to, for the sake of… _

_He stopped there, because he couldn't find the right words. _

_It was snowing, fine white substance was falling down on them and Raito had a brief, but very vivid vision of God finally noticing the suffering of his people and sending them a great dose of heavenly heroin to make it more bearable. _

_A s__ingle snowdrop fell down on Raito's face and immediately melted into a dribble that touched his upper lip. _

_No such luck for mortals today, he thought when he licked it away, just snow. He brought himself to look at Teru, who was staring at the distance, with his lips slightly parted and eyebrows knitted close together. _

_Oh well, here came the pondering look. But no matter how hard he tried, the right words obstinately refused to come out from his mouth. Raito was secretly glad for that, because this situation was hard to handle even as it was now, without calling unpleasant things by their proper names. _

_The problem was that he__ could never understand self-sacrifice of this sort. It made him experience mixed feelings of disgust, fatigue and vague sympathy, the last one of these emotions preventing him from sighing aloud. _

_What was he trying to achieve, telling him all of the sudden and in such a casual way? Did he want him to show some clichéd gesture of sympathy? Here, here, you poor thing, let me pat your back, come on, of course that you can cry on my shoulder. It must've been so dreadful to be bullied at middle school! Raito felt the corners of his mouth starting to twitch uncontrollably. _

_They stopped in front of the little pond. __Rounded, glossy white-and-red fish shapes glided under the surface. _

"_I wonder w__hat happens to them when it gets colder," Teru suddenly spoke, "if the pond freezes, I mean." _

_Raito looked around__. The park was deserted; it was just them, the carps and pale green grass turning on white. _

_The dusk was slowly settling in, darkening the shapes of leafless trees with their bare branches swaying slightly, forward and backward, like hands waving monotonic goodbye. One white body cut through the dark green water surface and then it plunged deeper, disappearing from their sight. _

_What does happen to them indeed? Raito thought, for it was __a right question to ask. He gave the man besides him a quizzical look, when he saw him kneel down and pulling something out of his pocket. It was a piece of bread. _

_The lawyer crumbled it between his fingers, throwing the breadcrumbs into the water. The carps spotted it at once and darted towards the surface, wolfing the crumbs down with amazing speed. _

_Raito watched, speechlessly, the white hands move above the water, the briskly moving glossy bodies looking as their distorted reflection, and suddenly realized that what he had been told before wasn't confided to him from the need of sympathy, at least not in the sense he had interpreted it at first._

_It was… _

Raito brought his memory to an abrupt end, vexed and confused.

Why this recollection, which had been buried somewhere deep in his mind for so long, chose this moment to appear, he didn't know. At least that was what he told himself.

But the images in his head were now clear and intertwined.

A beetle on the bark. Fish in the pond. _White, green and alive. _

_What happens to them? What happens to us?_

Then it was gone. His eyes fell on his computer and the last missing piece of the puzzle slipped into place, bashing that somewhat disturbing memory away. He started a new work yesterday, after all that built-up tension had given him the spur he needed.

He skimmed through the file in amazement. _What, twelve pages? What time did I pack it in, four in the morning? I have no idea… anyhow, let's see what we've got here, _Raito thought, absently munching on the croissant that found its way into his mouth after all.

…

When he was approaching Lawliett's room, he met with a tall, grey haired elderly gentleman who gave him a slight nod. He returned the gesture and proceeded to the door. Already with his hand on the handle he heard Dr Morino's voice speaking up to that man. It made him halt for a moment so he could - quite impolitely – listen to their conversation. From what he heard he gathered that Dr Morino was expressing his thanks for a recent donation Mr Wammy made, but the actual meaning was hard to grasp due to a whole flood of honorifics and polite expressions.

_Geez, __aren't you supposed to use this kind of language only when talking to the Emperor himself?_ Raito sighed inwardly and entered the room. L moved his head slightly to look at him with his dark eyes. If he was surprised to see him again so soon, he didn't show it.

Raito sat down on a single chair and the room succumbed to silence, disturbed only by light tapping of the rain. The air in the room was hot and sickly sweet. The furniture was covered by the usual disarray - books, papers covered with an impossible spidery handwriting, torn candy wrappings, brown glass bottles with white and yellow pills.

In the middle of all this Lawliett lied on his bed, yes, this time he actually lied on his back, he wasn't half sitting in one of those strange postures he tended to adopt, his hands with bitten nails were lying peacefully on the white linen, his white face was turned to his guest and his eyes with deep dark circles beneath them were not showing any emotion at all.

At first Raito felt a little bit awkward about the silence, but then it and the overall atmosphere of the room slowly started to make him feel dozy, reminding him that he didn't sleep more than a few hours the night before. His eyelids were getting heavy. He was fighting back the urge of walking to the bed and lying down there as well, so he could snuggle his face to that pristine white pillow, no, even better, to those hair that looked so incredibly black on the white linen and that would smell probably as sweet and intoxicating as everything here…

His eyes flickered open. He didn't come here for sleep, for God's sake. It must be the air, he decided, it's too hot. With that he stood up and opened the window, just enough that the fresh air started to flow in the room.

"Was it your grandfather before?" he finally asked with no other purpose than to start a conversation, because it was quite obvious.

L still humored with him an affirmative reply and went to talk about the old man, all the time idly playing with a heart shaped red lollipop. It wasn't the first time Raito saw him with such object, but it never failed him to strike him with its inappropriateness. That was why he couldn't help to watch the lollipop gliding through the poet's fingers, instead of focusing on the actual conversation, giving automatic responses that would easily fool everyone, everyone but L.

Finally the lollipop left L's fingers – only to find its way to his mouth. It was in that moment when Raito suddenly became aware of what the other was saying. His eyes opened wide.

"…so contrary to those gossips, he has never laid a hand on me. What he has for me is a totally different kind of interest."

Raito stared at him in disbelief. Was he still talking about that harmlessly looking old man he had just met? Of course, he said it wasn't true, but the mere existence of such suspicion… the fact that those atrocities could be heard in corridors of this institutions, that people thought of _this _when they saw his pale, angelic face…

Raito was thinking of that, staring as the heart shaped lollipop was moving in and out Lawliett's mouth with quiet popping sounds, until suddenly he was overcome with a wave of sick desire. On impulse he snatched the lollipop away from the other man and licked it, tracing the places L's tongue had just left. Then he returned it to its owner.

L gave him a slightly exasperated look, carefully laying the candy down on a bedside table.

"You don't concern yourself with hygiene much, do you?"

"Not really," Raito flashed him a smile as he leaned forward. Despite this outward nonchalance he felt as though his heart would break a couple of his ribs if it started to beat any stronger.

He captured the poet's lips, tasting the same sweetness as before, and he immersed down into the abyss, darkly sweet, sick and tinted with a smell of spring rainfall.

Then he felt hands on his shoulders pushing him away, with just a little force, but it was enough; what wasn't expressed clearly enough with that gesture was said with a single syllable that left L's lips.

"No."

Raito felt the anger rising in him again, the bitterness at being refused, the confusion of not knowing why.

"You already said that I shouldn't be doing this – but I won't give up that easily. You must tell me why."

"I must?" L repeated with a faint smile floating on his lips, "well, if you insist – the reason I'm refusing you is not that I'm not attracted to you, quite the contrary, if it helps to soothe your wounded pride, but that I know that one day – and that day might not be so far ahead - you'll regret this."

"I don't know what regret is," Raito blurted out without thinking.

L gave him an unexpectedly stern look.

"Then maybe it is time you get to know," he said with a strange decisiveness.

Raito sat on the edge of the bed, anger mixing with shame. No one in his life had ever made him feel like this. Silence once more stretched out in the room, until it was interrupted by L's sudden question:

"Do you want to go for a walk?"

Raito looked out the window, where it was still drizzling incessantly.

"In the rain?"

L shrugged his shoulders.

"We can take an umbrella," he replied and pointed to the corner of the room.

Raito nodded and automatically reached for the button to call a nurse, but L stopped him.

"No wheelchair today. I will walk by myself, with only you as a support. Just take the umbrella."

It made Raito slightly worried, but he didn't object. He put on his jacket and took the umbrella, which was big, with red and white stripes.

While they were passing through the corridor the poet didn't even lean on Raito, he really was walking by himself, certainly in a strange, limping way, but it was an unbelievable progress, considering the mere few steps he was able to make yesterday.

"The Linden Road," L said simply when they reached the garden and Raito nodded, offering him his arm. L leaned on it in tacit acceptation. They set out to the trees in silence under the murmur of the rain and Raito felt like drowning in that pleasant and disturbing proximity of this little world they came to share, a boat with red and white stripes at the top sailing through the grey ocean.

The vibrant green leaves looked even more beautiful than in the sun as they were glittering with moisture and their fragrance lingered in the air.

When they reached the three tombstones at the wall, L let go of Raito's arm and stepped out from under the umbrella, letting the rain soak him through. He threw his head back with his eyes closed, indifferent to cold wetness trickling down his temples, eyelids and mouth.

"I think I might lie here, too," he spoke.

Raito's eyes trailed to the graves and then returned to the poet.

"I thought you didn't like it here," he said, "that you feel trapped in this place. Why would you want to stay here even after you die?"

"I don't have any wishes concerning the place of my final rest. Come to think of it, I don't have any wishes at all. I just said that it might happen, considering the state of things," L replied indifferently.

"Don't speak of your death as if it should come for you today. And come off that rain, it's not good for your health," Raito said admonishingly and for a brief moment he felt as he had already gone through this situation once, only the roles were now somewhat reversed – L turned his back to him, hands in the pockets, and headed for the summer house that was located on the right side of the road.

Raito followed him there. It was a plain, round shaped construction made of light wood. They never really went there before, because there was absolutely no furniture. Table and benches were to be brought there later, the nurse Fujimi told him when he asked, usually in the beginning of summer when the days grew warmer.

L stood right in the middle of the summer house, his eyes looking out to the rain.

Raito stopped at the entrance, hesitating. The urge to kiss the other man was back, or rather it had never disappeared to begin with.

"I know what you want," L said.

"You want to have my body and you want to dominate my soul, to make it yearn for you, reach out to you, to make it your possession," he was saying in a horrible monotonic voice, while he slowly started to undress.

"It may be that you call it love. Let it be your way. I don't care what happens to me, so do as you please."

Those words fell on Raito like lashing of a leather strap, as he was watching L take off his clothes with a horrified expression. In contrast to that L's face was a mask of an impermeable indifference bordering with contempt.

His fingers, though, were numb and shaking so the whole ordeal took painfully long. Raito didn't do anything to stop him, just watched in astonished horror.

Thousands of words were whirling in his head, but he wasn't allowed to say a single one.

"No, not like this," a pained whisper finally escaped him, "I never wanted it to be like this. I don't want to force you-"

"You are not forcing me," L interrupted him coldly, "I already said you could do whatever you wanted. I don't care what happens to this body."

With that he kneeled down on all four on the meager pile of his own clothing, looking at Raito over his shoulder.

"Give it to me like you would beat a stray dog in the backstreet," he said, his voice suddenly dark and hoarse, "fuck me like you dreamed you would."

"Not like this," Raito repeated, feeling hollow. But his body was betraying him all along, and before he knew it he was already kneeling down and embracing the poet. At last he succeeded in turning him around to face him.

Those intense eyes were now closed and the crescents of dark lashes bored into pale cheeks.

"I don't want to dominate you," he whispered fiercely, "I just want to love you and I want you to love me back." Raito planted a kiss on L's forehead.

L let out a soft, humorless laugh.

"But what _is_ love?" he said, "the last cry of a lark pierced by the iron fence."

Raito's eyes began to sting as he remembered that particular poem.

He kissed the corner of Lawliett's mouth as his treacherous hands started to unbutton his own shirt.

_The__ faint and sweet smile on frozen lips_

L arched his back, and his pale, naked and perfect body was shaking ever so slightly.

_The drop of blood on the spinning wheel _

Raito kissed him hard on the lips, feeling a painful tension building between his legs. The rain steadily beat down on the wooden roof and the world outside was grey, green and smelled of spring.

"A nicer word for despair," L spoke the finishing line. "Now hurry up, Yagami-kun. When I said I don't have any wishes… I lied."

**TBC**


	6. The Faithful Dog

_Hello, thanks go to all who reviewed. __Just one thing – if you notice a grammatical mistake or a typo, don't hesitate to tell me about it. I'm proofreading every chapter a couple of times before posting, but you know, other peoples´ mistakes are always easier to spot than your own. Anyway, enjoy your read. _

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**Chapter VI - The Faithful Dog**

The pupil, a lanky girl in junior high school uniform, said her thanks and left. Teru's mother tidied up the note sheets and spread the dark forest green cloth over the keys before shutting the dark brown lacquered lid.

She gave her son a small smile and went to the kitchen to make some more tea.

She gave a few piano lessons, but otherwise she was fully dependent on the financial support of her son, with which he was more than generous. On the top of the piano, just next to the picture of his father, there was another one showing his mother and aunt posing in front of the Eiffel tower.

Teru remembered how happy his mother was when he bought them the trip, and that thought made him feel just a bit proud of himself. It didn't last long, though.

His mother brought in the tea, and the mother and son spent some time in comfortable silence, sipping their beverages.

"It is such a pity that Ann left," Keiko Mikami suddenly spoke up.

_Not this again_, Teru thought miserably, his mood ruined. Ann was a post-gradual law student from America and also, more importantly, his ex-girlfriend. In fact their relationship had hardly ever overstepped the boundaries of a very good friendship; moreover, when her year stage was over, she really didn't find anything in this country compelling enough to stay, so she just went back home with no definite plans to ever return to Japan. Unfortunately, Teru's mother took to liking her a lot and considered her the ideal match for her son.

"She wasn't happy here," he commented flatly.

"That's nonsense. Any woman should be happy anywhere as long as she is with you," Keiko objected with a warm smile and cocked her head to the side.

She took one of his hands into her small, cold palms.

"You've become a wonderful man, Teru, it makes me so happy," she said affectionately, "your father would be proud of you."

_Proud of me? That's ridiculous. _

It wasn't the fact he was in love with other man he was ashamed of, but the very nature of their relationship, which was far from equal. That had become even clearer these last few weeks.

_Since the first time he went to that drug addicts' haven or whatever it is. _

And he couldn't do anything to change that. He really was so weak, so pathetic…

He quickly pushed those thoughts away, lest his mother would notice that something was wrong with him. He tried to focus his attention elsewhere, his eyes roaming freely through the room. Everything looked just the way it always did. Old, but meticulously polished furniture, white porcelain set with a red line around the edges and numerous souvenirs. Not a specter of dust to be seen, his mother had always taken a great care of that.

Finally something caught his attention. It was a picture of a dog hanging above the small library. Teru was sure it wasn't there the last time he visited.

"Is that Hachikō?"

"Of course," his mother smiled, delighted that he noticed, "I found it at the flea market the other day and thought it'd fit there just nicely. Isn't he lovely?"

"Yes, sure," he replied unconvincingly, for the painting wasn't really much. It was just something you could get from a flea market – cheap colors had already started to fade and the brush skill of the painter wasn't any better.

Raito would have delivered a long scathing speech about that, Teru thought, but he didn't want to hurt his mother's feelings.

Moreover, Hachikō the dog was really a model example of loyalty, wasn't he?

…

"So he beats you now," Hamaguchi said with an unpleasant smirk on his face.

Teru's hand involuntarily rose to the bruise under his right eye.

"I had an accident in the garden," he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

"What, you stepped on a rake?" Hamaguchi sniggered. Then his expression grew serious.

"This is getting way too far, Mikami. I thought I've already told you that this is a respectable firm, not some _okama_ circus. What will be next, huh? You coming here dressed in drag? Your boyfriend showing up at your trial giving you a ´well done´ kiss? Or-"

"I told you that my personal life has nothing to do with you OR our work," Teru interrupted him, his face turning so pale that it made the bruise stand out even more than before.

"You're wrong," Hamaguchi hissed. "Just look at yourself! You're a walking disgrace for this company!"

This left Teru speechless. Everything he had achieved so far was just spat upon and dismissed like a pile of trash. How was he to defend himself?

But he wasn't even given the time to come back with anything, because Hamaguchi just threw a last threatening glare at him and headed for the door. With his hand already on the door handle he paused and turned back once more.

"I won't tolerate it anymore," he said, "I'm going to talk to Katō-san."

…

The 8:30 train was so packed that he could hardly breathe. He may have looked just like a drop in the sea of men in business suits clinging to plastic handles with their eyes staring apathetically out of the window, but his thoughts were whirling around in a frantic pace.

He should be concerned about what Hamaguchi was going to tell their boss. As he knew him, it wouldn't be just unfounded rumors. There would be some kind of a proof, like a picture of him and Raito together, maybe. He might not be able to deny it.

He might be penalized somehow, even fired. But that wasn't what sent that chilly feeling crawling up his spine and made his breathing erratic.

He felt like that because he didn't know what would be awaiting him at home. His eyes mechanically skimmed through the advertisement texts on the train walls, as his mind offered him all possible scenarios. Some of them made his insides freeze.

He could find his things roughly packed in the middle of the living room with a brief goodbye note lying nearby, or maybe even without that. Or it could be Raito's things that would be gone – but that'd be absurd because it was Raito's apartment and the writer liked it way too much to leave it behind as a parting gift – no, most likely he'd just find Raito waiting for him with a serious expression on his face. _We need to talk._ Or worse, _it_'_s over. _

When he reached his station, there was a light drizzle so he took out his folding umbrella and opened it. He slowly walked home, his legs becoming heavier with every step.

If Raito told him to leave, he'd have to go to some hotel, he thought. He still kept his own flat, he wasn't _that _stupid, but he was now renting it to a thirty something couple on a contract that was due to be renewed in another six months. He couldn't go to his mother's place, no, that just wasn't an option. How would he ever explain this to her? And hotels in the capital were expensive; six months would be hardly affordable even with his salary. And he still wanted to support his mother– what'd she think if he suddenly stopped?

The rain was getting heavier. Teru instinctively hunched his back, still lost in gloomy thoughts.

Finding a new place for a reasonable price was so hard these days, with the rents rising steadily. He shivered when he imagined those infamous suburban hostels with their thin walls, urine stink and drunken workers brawling at night. Maybe even some cockroaches under the plank floor, if he wasn't lucky.

_Raito would scold__ me for thinking in stereotypes_, it suddenly occurred to him. That idea amused him for a few seconds.

He reached the front door. The automatic light switched on and flooded the windowless corridor with artificial white light. The lawyer pressed the elevator button.

Or he might end up like one of those wretches sleeping in internet café boxes. _One has to admit that they are quite nicely cushioned, though. _

The elevator stopped and Teru couldn't suppress a bitter smile. Who was he trying to fool? He was fully aware that he wouldn't mind living in a cardboard box, if it meant that Raito would stay with him.

He approached their door and took a few calming breaths. Then he opened it.

He saw Raito sitting at his desk with his back turned to him, typing something on his computer.

"Hello," he said tentatively.

"Hi," Raito replied, his eyes never leaving the screen, "I'm kind of in a middle of something here. Wouldn't you mind making me a sandwich?"

This was an option Teru hadn't thought of. Raito was _working_.

…

A few days passed in the same way. Teru went to work every day anticipating to be called into his boss' office, but still nothing happened. He was sure Hamaguchi was doing it on purpose just to make him nervous.

And when he came home, Raito was always there, writing. Nothing whatsoever indicated that he ever left the place during the day.

He was like in a trance, with his fingers frantically running over the keyboard and eyes firmly fixed on the screen. From time to time he would suddenly leap off his feet and start pacing the room, muttering something to himself, while occasionally scribblingsomething hurriedly down on a paper from the pile he kept close. He didn't drink much alcohol – he only resorted to that when he temporarily ran out of the ideas – instead he was drowning himself in coffee that Teru was ready to brew again whenever the pot had gone empty, which was often.

This behavior, although seemingly unpredictable, occurred unfailingly every time Raito reached a certain phase in writing a new work, so Teru had already discovered some kind of reassuring pattern in it.

For that reason he was now able to quite relax in a presence of someone who bystanders would probably consider a madman.

Raito crumpled a piece of paper in his fist and his eyes fiercely darted around the room, as though he was looking for a fire to burn it.

Then he just threw it away, sat back to his chair and resumed typing. Teru stood up and walked to the writer's desk. He checked his coffee mug and found it almost empty.

"Do you want some more coffee, Raito?" he asked and received an affirmative answer. He then turned to leave, but something caught his attention. It wasn't the words on the screen; no, he didn't care about those at all. What concerned him was the curve of Raito's back, for it looked quite tensed. It had to be painful.

He instinctively placed his hands on the writer's shoulders to give him a massage as he used to, but then he pulled away and took a step aback. _How long am I going to pretend that nothing happened and everything is alright?_

…

Raito was once again muttering something furiously to himself, but Teru didn't understand a word of it, for he had been listening to music from a solid pair of headphones for some period of time now.

Bach's Brandenburg Concerto in D major had ended and he dropped the headphones, now hearing just the staccato of the keys. He yawned and nestled more comfortably into the sofa, his vision slowly narrowing, until finally he saw nothing more than the brown head of hair leaning over the laptop. He wanted to capture that view just a little bit longer, but it soon dissolved into brownish darkness.

For the first time in weeks he was almost happy.

…

The fingers flew across the keyboard.

_Suga looked to the sky and watched the white clouds of unidentifiable shapes, as she thought of dying. _

Writing was the only thing he could do at the moment, otherwise those memories would come and swallow him.

Memories of white knees only a white crumpled shirt away from the rough wooden floor and a pair of slender hands leaning against that floor with an improbable mixture of resignation and determination, a gesture that should have done anything but to arouse him.

_Just f__lashes of white._

His tired eyes left the screen to gaze at a couple of blurred yellow points out of the window, not really seeing them.

Those hands clinging to him almost desperately, leaving red marks on his shoulders and back that were sadly gone by now, the feeling of cool skin underneath his touch that suddenly changed into a burning sensation.

_Her__ world was ablaze._

Raito sipped his coffee that had already turned cold.

He heard a sound giving away an existence of another human being. Or maybe it was just the TV; it didn't really matter.

He heard the sound again. It turned out to be a voice. It said something with his name in it. So there was another human after all and it was Teru Mikami asking something about coffee.

"Yeah, thanks," Raito muttered. Then he felt a light touch on his shoulders, but before he had the chance to react, it was gone. All the while his fingers continued typing.

_She didn't expect it to happen. When the borders of the two wor__lds disappeared, it caught her by surprise. _

There were words, sweet-talk and nonsense and maybe brilliant verses, but he couldn't hear them for the blood roaring in his ears. But he wanted to hear just one word coming from that sweet mouth, just one. When he was losing himself in that perfect body, no, that whole perfect being, which just watched him with those ink-black eyes that held strange sparkles of light and only small indiscernible sounds escaped those soft lips, the only thing that didn't melt in the white-hot nothingness enveloping his mind was the need to hear that word.

"Say my name," he commanded and kissed L on the mouth, sensing his release drawing near.

He didn't get any response. The poet just arched his back even more than before, slightly trembling.

"Say my name," Raito repeated, his voice now hardly more than a breath.

The last thing he saw were ink-black eyes shutting closed. Then his climax hit him with burning intensity and he collapsed on the body beneath him, blindly embracing it, pressing it even closer.

"Just… say… my… name," he heard himself babble uncontrollably in a tear strained voice until he ran out of breath.

He didn't know how long they just lay there like that, but his breathing eventually began to steady and he felt the chilling touch of cold spring air on his still hot skin.

When he finally opened his eyes, he saw that L's were still closed. He was lying there perfectly still, his breathing shallow. He was unconscious.

_B__ecause at that moment when everything stood still, she realized that she was all alone in the world. _

Raito shut the computer down and rested his head on his forearms. Tonight, writing didn't really seem to be a solution.

…

"Tell me what happened!" The female doctor Raito hadn't met before commanded, as she leaned over to check the poet's pulse.

"We went for a walk and when we got here, he…he just-"

Raito couldn't find words to continue; he was completely overwhelmed by shock mixed with feelings of guilt.

"Why didn't you take the wheelchair?"

"He wanted to walk on his own. I thought he was a little bit weak for that, but-"

"Then you shouldn't have let him!" The doctor interrupted him, anger flashing in her eyes.

"You should've at the very least informed one of our staff. And why is- why he has his shirt the wrong side out?" She asked with suspicion clearly written in her face.

"I don't know," Raito mumbled, looking to the ground.

"I think that the visiting hours are over for today," the doctor said sternly.

Raito just stood there dumbfounded.

"But I'd… I'd like to wait to see if he is okay," he stuttered.

"And I would like you to leave. Now," she said firmly and then turned her head to the other two white-clad figures approaching them with a stretcher.

Then she turned to Raito again. When she saw the look of sincere concern on his face, her expression softened a little bit.

"He should be alright. He just fainted, nothing more. Now go."

Raito walked away on wobbly feet, casting so many backward glances that once or twice he nearly fell, until finally the figures disappeared from his view behind the linden trees.

…

In Teru's dream, everything was black and white. His sense of smell, which had grown somewhat sharper, was overwhelmed by an odor of sweat and slightly burned yakitori.

He was at the train station surrounded by a crowd of people. Lots of them wore yukatas or old-fashioned suits. His eye level was, strangely enough, at people's knees.

Just a few steps for him stood a boy holding a stack of newspapers constantly screaming something about a murder and fraud. He went there, not really knowing why, and saw a man in a grey suit giving the boy a couple of coins for a newspaper.

At that sight he felt a wave of such love that it made his heart almost burst. The man looked at him with gentle brown eyes.

Teru wanted to say something to him, something nice, but all that came out from his mouth was a bark.

"Good boy," the man said, patted his head and walked off to the train.

As the train engine started, Teru gave out a long howl. He knew that he would never see that man again, that he was doomed to stay here alone until he died.

Then fortunately something woke him up. He blinked a few times at the daylight that now entered the room, while his brain struggled to assess the information that he was Teru Mikami the lawyer, and not Hachikō the faithful dog.

The sharp odors of the 1920's train station were finally gone and he realized what had made him open his eyes. It was Raito's voice; he was talking on the phone with someone. He sounded furious.

"What do you mean, forbidden? I know he's the one paying the bills, but it doesn't give him the right to do something like that."

There was a short pause.

"No, that isn't true. He is not- he just can't be- listen, if he _were_, how'd he be able to publish anything?" Raito exclaimed with triumph.

Then he received a response that made his face fell. It took him almost a whole minute to resume talking.

"I see. I… could you- could you let me talk to him?"

"Why not?" Raito asked immediately afterwards. His eyes widened in fear.

A moment of silence.

"What? Why would he say that? I don't believe you!"

"Doctor? Are you still there?"

Another silence came, this time obviously mutual, because Raito let his phone slowly slip from his fingers, as he turned to the sofa.

**TBC**

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I switched from spelling the long vowel /o:/ in Japanese names as ou to ō, because I just couldn't bring myself to write Hachik_ou_. It just doesn't feel right. I hope everyone can see it just fine. For those interested or not having a clue, Hachikō the faithful dog and other things Japanese mentioned in this chapter are easy enough to google.

Just a random piece of advice – if you're in Tokyo and want to meet with someone, DO NOT choose Hachikō as your meeting place. Why? Because that's what EVERYONE ELSE is doing. I once spent like an hour there looking for my friends, so I know what I'm talking about.

See you next time; reviews are more than welcomed.


	7. A Wish to Fly

_Hello everyone, here I am with the next chapter. Thank you for the nice reviews, there was one that even made me blush. __According to the stats, most of my readers are Americans, so I want to announce that I'm in the US now till July 27 (even my profile is showing that, which gave me a start). I have a thesis to write, but I'd always welcome a break, so if you're located somewhere near DC and want to talk about this story, Death Note, literature or life in general over a cup of coffee or a glass of beer, just PM me. Anyway, here's the chapter._

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**Chapter VII – A Wish to Fly**

Everything was austere and refined at the same time, from calligraphies on the wall to a silver metal clock ticking on the desk. Nothing flashy. Only the small plate on the door announced to the world that this place belonged to the head of one of the largest law offices in Tokyo.

"Sit down, Mikami-kun," the man said and Teru's legs complied before he even grasped the meaning of the words. Matsumoto Kiichirō didn't need to impress anyone with his office. He himself was the very impersonation of power, with his salt and pepper hair, straight but not rigid posture and piercing gaze.

A pair of intelligent eyes silently scrutinized Teru for a minute – just enough to make him slightly uncomfortable, but not enough that it could be called patronizing.

"I think that you know why you are here. Hamaguchi-kun talked to me about you."

Teru simply nodded.

"I understand that it's a private matter and I or the office I represent have no right to interfere, but what we are speaking about here is the question of public acknowledgement."

Teru looked puzzled. _Public acknowledgement?_ He wasn't aware of anything of that sort. Matsumoto slowly opened a gray folder and took out a photograph.

_Hamaguchi really got that far, _Teru thought, infuriated, _digging out some dirty snapshot of me and Raito. _Matsumoto silently passed him the picture.

When Teru glanced at it, he had to suppress the urge to laugh. It was an incredibly silly picture. It showed him wearing one of his finest suits raising his arms in panic, his face turned away from the camera. Raito was leaning towards him, pressing a piece of cloth to his chest.

On his face, which was just an inch away from Teru's, he wore a smile that could be described as both seductive and inane, and above all as drunken.

This photograph was taken about a month ago at the opening of an exhibition of a certain contemporary painter, a friend of Raito's. The main theme of the paintings would be eyes, which came in various colors and shapes. Teru couldn't shake off the unpleasant feeling of being watched.

_Now it seems that it wasn't just the paintings,_Teru mused, looking at the picture in which some anonymous paparazzi managed to capture what Teru thought was about the best moment of the whole blasted event. He just hated social gatherings.

Teru returned the gaze of the piercing eyes, unabashed.

"Actually, Yagami-san was drunk and spilled his drink on my shirt. Then he tried to clean it himself – even though I told him not to – but his state prevented him from being of any actual help."

He felt the corners of his mouth slightly twitching against his will. The expression of the man facing him remained unreadable.

"Are you saying that you are not in a romantic relationship with Yagami-san?"

The tone was perfectly neutral, but Teru could nonetheless hear all the hidden implications it carried. There was only one right answer, that much was obvious. All it would take was to say yes and this meeting would be over, the whole matter forgotten. Even though that Hamaguchi was his senior, he could feel that Matsumoto-shachō trusted him more than he did Hamaguchi, who had some troubles with clients in the past; there had never been a single complaint about Teru.

It would be so easy, just to say yes and deny everything_. Especially since it's been even true lately_, Teru thought as he felt something cold cradle his heart. He was in denial for so long, but the cool simplicity of this office and the calm, business manner in which everything was discussed shed a new, cold light on his relationship. It was rapidly going downhill and there were hardly any romantic elements left. Relinquishing the rare moments of seeming peace just wasn't enough.

Teru snapped out of his thoughts, realizing that he left the other waiting for too long.

"No," he said, surprised at how easily it came out, "you are mistaken, Matsumoto-san. We _are _romantically involved."

…

The room filled with work suddenly fell on him like a dead weight and its familiar scents made him suffocate.

He flipped through the last pages he wrote. The story appeared to him more and more introspective. Everything was far too still, motionless and heavy. Statue-like characters were staggering in the dark.

It needed some movement, Raito decided, and so did he. In the next instant he was already grabbing his jacket and heading out. In front of the apartment building he leaned against the wall and inhaled the night air, forcing all thoughts out of his head until it was empty and light.

He didn't feel like going for a ride; just a walk would do. First he stopped at the corner at the vending machine to buy a pack of cigarettes. He rarely smoked, but this night had a peculiar feeling about it that called for a cigarette. Then he plunged in between the estate houses, with his back to the road that was still quite noisy despite the late hour.

He passed a deserted playground; the dark shapes of swings, climbers and merry-go-rounds seemed to acquire some new, deeper meaning that was hidden during daytime.

He lit a cigarette, inhaling a mixture of smoke and fresh night air. He walked on in a leisurely pace, looking up to the windows, watching the moving silhouettes of people behind the thin blinds, but not really thinking about them.

He came to a small square, where a sports bar, a small casino and a 24/7 were still open. He considered dropping at a bar for a drink, but decided against it. He planned to write some more after he came back – and he had a rule he seldom broke about staying sober when he was writing. He had to rewrite most of those first twelve pages he had written in drunken frenzy on that stormy night, after all.

He left the square, heading for the bus stop. He didn't even have the time to glance at the schedule when the bus arrived. He considered that a sign, because the intervals were quite long at this hour, and got on, not even knowing where the bus was going.

He paid the fare and sat down, looking around. Besides him there were six passengers; two almost identically looking girls with bleached hair and short skirts, who were adjusting their make-up. They were obviously going from one party to another. The other four were men, two young and one middle aged, looking drunk, and finally one dignified-looking old man in a dark suit with a white flower in his buttonhole.

His eyes lingered for a moment on the old man, vaguely musing what was such person doing on the night bus, but soon he let it go. It was the little mysteries what made this city so captivating.

Raito shifted his gaze out the window. He now knew where the bus was going; he grew up in this city after all. The window right in front of him was open and the air was lashing into his face as he stared out at nothing in particular, car lights and streetlights and neon lights all blending together into smears of light flying through the dark.

The light smears grew scarcer and scarcer as the bus reached a different ward. It was the part of the town where most of the Western embassies were located, all stately, early 20th century European style buildings surrounded by tall trees.

Raito got off the bus and walked a couple of minutes without meeting a soul, listening to the sound of wind in the trees.

Finally he sat on a bench just next to the Italian embassy and lit another cigarette. At that point the moon emerged from beyond the clouds and its light flooded the street. He watched the moon through a plume of smoke, his mind absolutely blank.

Then his cell phone started to ring. He fished it out of his pocket without great enthusiasm, expecting it to be Teru asking anxiously where the hell he went in the middle of the night.

For once, he was wrong. The number on the screen didn't belong to anyone in his address book. His eyes widened in apprehension. _It can't be- _

Forbidding himself any hope he accepted the call.

"_Hello, Yagami-kun."_

"Lawliett? Is it really you? No, sorry, stupid question, of course it's you. How come I didn't have this number?"

"_That's because I never gave it to you."_

There was a sound of brakes somewhere, then silence.

"So, how are you?" he asked, feeling stupid.

"_Fine, thank you. I've…recovered."_

Raito felt a surge of guilt rising within him.

"Look, I'm really sorry about what-"

"_Don't apologize,"_ the voice cut him off, _"it was my fault. I shouldn't have led you into that sort of situation."_

_No, you really shouldn't have, _one part of him agreed, while the rest was fighting back the memories that made him nauseous and giddy with joy at the same time.

"I knew what I was doing," Raito said aloud.

"_I wouldn't have expected anything else from you."_

Raito found it hard to say anything to that, so he said nothing at all.

"_Can you see the moon now?" _the voice asked.

"Yes," Raito said, realizing that all the while he was starting at it so intently that his eyes started to sting.

"_When I tell you, start counting to forty."_

"What is going to happen?" Raito asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

"_You will see. Now…count.__" _

Raito obeyed. It was the longest forty seconds in his life, a whole universe filled with darkness and moonlight and the faint sound of the other's breathing at the other end of the line.

When the count reached forty, a round shadow started creeping over the moon, turning its color into coppery red. Only a small crescent remained white.

Raito felt as though he was just given the most precious gift in his life.

"It's beautiful. Thank you," he said, not realizing that his voice turned into whisper.

"_I wanted to w__atch it with you, but I was aware of the fact that 2:37 AM wouldn't correspond with the visiting hours, so I arranged it like this." _

"Visiting hours?" Raito repeated, "I thought that there were no longer any visiting hours for me. They told me your grandfather has forbidden it."

There was a short pause at the other end of line and then the voice spoke up with just a trace of hesitation:

"_You can come again,"_ Raito felt his heart skip a beat, _"but they won't let us alone anymore."_

Then there was a click and the line went dead.

Raito slowly lowered the hand with the phone, staring at it for a second before he put it back into his pocket.

He rode a several buses and watched the darkness grow thinner, his head light as a puff of smoke and a smile hanging on his lips. He realized that the people who met him probably thought he was on crack, but he didn't care.

When he came back, it was almost six in the morning. Teru was already awake, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the morning paper.

"Where have you been?" he asked casually.

"Just a late night stroll, then took a few bus rides," Raito answered with a shrug and kicked off his shoes.

"You look happy," Teru tried to keep his tone neutral, but for some reason it came out as accusing. Raito didn't react to that.

"It was a good stroll," was all he said before he stretched himself out on the couch and closed his eyes.

…

Something was different. It wasn't as though he had felt any kind of reverence for the place before; he wasn't even aware that it stirred any emotions in him whatsoever. Now he realized that it had, if only because of the one person who lived there, but these emotions were gone.

The white of the walls seemed faded and windows that had always struck him as perfectly clean were stained, so the pools of sunlight on the floor had darks spots in them. He noticed a thin layer of dust on the thick leaves of a ficus elastica plant on the windowsill.

All the medical staff he met seemed to regard him with a hostile expression; he felt their eyes bore into his back long after he was out of their sight. He was used to public attention, even an unfavorable one – reactions to _Dear Wilhelm_ varied from fanatic admiration to open protests against the upcoming re-edition – but this was the first time he felt this uneasy and vulnerable.

Finally after what fell like a walk on hot coals he reached L's room and knocked.

"Come in," a familiar woman's voice said.

"Hello," he said after entering.

"Hello, Yagami-kun. The weather is just delightful today. Can we go for a walk?"

…

Soft, shallow shades spread on the lawn as a contrast to the gentle light that had lent a golden glow to the air itself.

They talked about innocence, the light breeze ruffling their hair.

The nurse Haruka Fujimi followed them with the now empty wheelchair, keeping a respectful distance.

"…and, as an embodiment of it Suga is so much higher above all those who surround her. Innocence, that's what makes her superior, can you see it?"

"Not quite, I'm afraid. What is it to innocence that makes people value it so much?"

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't it like beauty? A mere hundred years ago, it was all decided – beauty was a virtue, ugliness a vice. Who got to be beautiful was predestined by gods according to their karma. Then the view started to shift. People were slowly realizing that just being beautiful didn't automatically make you a better human being – in theory, at least, because in reality people have always been attracted to beauty, regardless of the character."

The poet's dark eyes turned to the writer who walked by his side, slowly taking in his face. A ghost of a smile played on his lips.

"Your point being?" Raito almost snapped.

"My point is that you can't choose to be born beautiful, it's something you either have or not. And we are all born innocent, but you can't decide to stay innocent. Life just deforms you on the way."

"I can't imagine how it must have deformed you," Raito muttered and regretted it the next instant.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but L stopped him before he had chance to say anything by lightly tapping his forearm.

"Don't. It did deform me and it's not your fault. I'm afraid that it's no one's fault at all."

_Why did you say __that you're afraid, _Raito wanted to ask, but something stopped him this time. He decided that it was the time to change the topic.

"So, you're not legally competent," he stated.

"No," L nodded, "my grandfather took care of that when my addiction hit its peak. I didn't qualify to posses what they call a _sound mind_, then."

"But you're addicted no more," Raito objected, "shouldn't you get your competency back?"

"I guess so," the poet shrugged his shoulders, "but I have the feeling that I won't need it anyway."

Raito looked away, feeling uneasy. They had already reached the end of the Linden Road. He could see the shadow of one of the tombstones lying gently in the grass.

All of the sudden Haruka spoke up:

"I have to excuse myself for a moment, so please be so kind and wait for me here," she said in her bright voice and Raito gave her a thankful smile. At least her behavior to him didn't change a bit. Luckily she was also the one to supervise them.

After they were left alone, the first thing Raito did was to embrace the other man.

"God, I missed you," he whispered, stroking Lawliett's back. The poet let his head rest on Raito's shoulder, sighing quietly.

They stayed like this for a long time, saying nothing. When Raito closed his eyes, he imagined that the brick wall surrounding them disappeared and they could see the scenery that opened around them, the trees and white houses all basking in that insufferably gentle afternoon sunlight, the blue sky above it endless and light.

"Play the flute," L spoke up in a quite voice, "play the silver flute."

"So you can fly, soaring high," Raito added the other verse and continued to stroke the poet's back, feeling the protruding shoulder blades through the thin fabric.

_Like wings, _he thought, _just like wings. _

Haruka returned and Raito reluctantly let go of the embrace. The rest of the walk they just talked about literature.

"I will see you soon," Raito said when it was time for him to leave. Lawliett simply nodded in answer.

As he was returning through those halls that suddenly seemed so hostile to him, once again he met two of the doctors. One of them happened to be Dr. Morino. His greetings were so cold that it could hardly be called polite anymore.

As they were retreating, Raito heard their muffled voices.

_Just__ because of the donations_ were the only words he could make out. Nevertheless it did the job.

Raito had made a decision.

**T****BC**


End file.
